Just to let all zero of you who have ever looked at this blog: I gave up. It's great. You should do it, too.
I'm going to go have a cig and there's beer in the fridge...
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Day 1: You've got to be kidding me
It's official - I'm in the worst shape of my life.
I got off of work today at around 6:15ish. I put on my cute lil' running outfit that I conveniently packed with me to work, in the bathroom on my office floor. Stretched a little on the elevator going down - after all , I didn't want to pull anything on my long fucking run.
I had the best intentions. See, I normally walk home from work. I work in the heart of downtown Portland, OR and live about a mile and half away, up a long and relatively steep hill (towards Council Crest, for those in the area). I was planning on running to a track at the base of the hill, which is about a mile from my office.
I didn't make it.
I was cruising along fine for about 15 blocks. Then I started to wheeze a little. Then a little more. I figured that I would walk a block to shake it off. Holy shit. No way. I had to stop. I walked the rest of the way to the base of my hill, telling the track it could go fuck itself along the way. The bottom of the hill served as a resting place, there was nice little area to sit and subsequently lay.
It felt like my chest was caving in. I thought I might very well die right then and there. I remembered what my coach used to tell me, "Hands on your head and keep your chin up," he'd say. "Open up your airway." I was salivating, wheezing (a pathetic little noise, if I may say so) and coughing like sonofabitch. 10 minutes. 10 minutes it took me before the chest pains went away.
RJ Reynolds, I love you, but seriously, asshole, fuck you. Camel Lights, the brand that kicked off my career of wild nights, are officially done for me. If I'm going to take up running, I'm going to have to give up smoking. Bar none.
I got off of work today at around 6:15ish. I put on my cute lil' running outfit that I conveniently packed with me to work, in the bathroom on my office floor. Stretched a little on the elevator going down - after all , I didn't want to pull anything on my long fucking run.
I had the best intentions. See, I normally walk home from work. I work in the heart of downtown Portland, OR and live about a mile and half away, up a long and relatively steep hill (towards Council Crest, for those in the area). I was planning on running to a track at the base of the hill, which is about a mile from my office.
I didn't make it.
I was cruising along fine for about 15 blocks. Then I started to wheeze a little. Then a little more. I figured that I would walk a block to shake it off. Holy shit. No way. I had to stop. I walked the rest of the way to the base of my hill, telling the track it could go fuck itself along the way. The bottom of the hill served as a resting place, there was nice little area to sit and subsequently lay.
It felt like my chest was caving in. I thought I might very well die right then and there. I remembered what my coach used to tell me, "Hands on your head and keep your chin up," he'd say. "Open up your airway." I was salivating, wheezing (a pathetic little noise, if I may say so) and coughing like sonofabitch. 10 minutes. 10 minutes it took me before the chest pains went away.
RJ Reynolds, I love you, but seriously, asshole, fuck you. Camel Lights, the brand that kicked off my career of wild nights, are officially done for me. If I'm going to take up running, I'm going to have to give up smoking. Bar none.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Kick-off
I'm not going to pull any punches. I'm 6'4", 190 lbs., and I pretty much look like shit. The dimensions probably don't sound that bad, but I'm on a thin frame. I mean, my face is nothing to scoff at (or so I've been told), but I have serious baggage. I'm carrying around saddlebags and a mini-gut on chicken legs. There is quite literally no definition anywhere to be seen. I'm growing a little patch of hair on my chest that kind of makes me look like a crackhead (not entirely sure how that connection was made in my head, but stay tuned for pics). I'm bald, too. I'm not ashamed of that fact, but it certainly ain't helpin'. My skin isn't in the best shape and I'm pale.
I smoke. I drink. I stay out until the wee hours of the night. I eat fast food. I walk; I don't run. Don't own a bike. I sit on my ass all day in front of a computer. I watch sports on my ass, but God forbid I'd play. When I cook, the meal at hand usually involves lots of cream and butter. I had a salad a couple of weeks ago, but it was smothered with Litehouse Blue Cheese dressing - the fatty kind. I love (or loved, I guess) these things about my life.
So here we are. I'm 24 and woke up one day and realized that I'm a fat, bald slob. Now, I'm planning on changing some of the above, mainly the items contained in paragraph one. Unfortunately I might have to give up some of the glorious items in paragraph two to make this happen.
Now I'm not going to get all gay on you and document everything. In fact, I probably won't post everyday. You won't see any weights of my food or anything pussy like that. You will get the truth though. If I go out and drink a case of beer in a night and miss a week of running, you will know.
My only plan is to change, even if only a little bit. Day one will involve a run. Simple as that.
Stay tuned (and pray for me, my lord it's been a long time)!
I smoke. I drink. I stay out until the wee hours of the night. I eat fast food. I walk; I don't run. Don't own a bike. I sit on my ass all day in front of a computer. I watch sports on my ass, but God forbid I'd play. When I cook, the meal at hand usually involves lots of cream and butter. I had a salad a couple of weeks ago, but it was smothered with Litehouse Blue Cheese dressing - the fatty kind. I love (or loved, I guess) these things about my life.
So here we are. I'm 24 and woke up one day and realized that I'm a fat, bald slob. Now, I'm planning on changing some of the above, mainly the items contained in paragraph one. Unfortunately I might have to give up some of the glorious items in paragraph two to make this happen.
Now I'm not going to get all gay on you and document everything. In fact, I probably won't post everyday. You won't see any weights of my food or anything pussy like that. You will get the truth though. If I go out and drink a case of beer in a night and miss a week of running, you will know.
My only plan is to change, even if only a little bit. Day one will involve a run. Simple as that.
Stay tuned (and pray for me, my lord it's been a long time)!
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