Foray into Fitness

Courtesy of  Katja Giersig via Flickr CC

Enough is enough. And you are gonna help me keep it that way.

I can't tell you what has brought me to this point, but I surely got here. It could have been been when I caught myself wheezing after a gentle jog. Or was it when I was swarmed recently by old players, one of whom affectionately punched me in the stomach and told me I was "showing."

It might have been when I discovered my toddler daughter thought my midsection was a combo trampoline and pillow.

In any case, I recently decided that fitness will return to my neck of the woods.

It won't be easy. I like to eat. Ethnic, soul food, Qdoba burritos... I love them all. The thought of leaving the skin of chicken wounds my soul. I am also hearing that my 2 AM snack may have to go away, too. That alarms me.

It's not like I haven't tried before. Months ago, I decided that my fitness regimen would not just consist of Wii-based aerobics. I woke up before the sun, and told my groggy wife that I was off to recapture my youth. She rolled over.

I limped up about 45 minutes later. She glanced at me quizzically, but looked impressed.

"How did your run go?" then she noticed my injury. "What happened?"

"I hurt my hamstring" I dodgily replied.

"How?

"Stretching."

She wouldn't stop. "How far had you run?"

"Run? I never left the house. I pulled the muscle while stretching."

She rolled back over.

If I am gonna be completely honest, I can probably point out when sense of self-preservation overcame my built-in excuses. Over the summer, while escorting my youth group to a camp in West Virginia, I decided to go for a run. It was about time, too. Minus scrimmage time with my soccer teams, I hadn't run in like forever (well maybe not forever... just a decade. Or two). I strapped on my green and grey kicks, and was rocking my matching green shirt and grey shorts. Yes, yes... I was styling out in the mountains! You never know when Adidas might need a dark, svelte frontman. Or a dark frontman.

Had my music, Runkeeper software going, and I set off. I did a good pace, if I may say so myself. I pushed myself harder than I pushed myself physically in a long, long time. I ran till my eyes got blurry and I collapsed on the soccer field in exhaustion.

Mentally, I shocked myself. I instinctively knew I had ran something like a marathon, but I was humble enough to know I wasn't gonna be breaking any world or county records.

When I recovered enough to lift an arm, I checked my time. Without getting too much into it, something was wrong with Runkeeper. It claimed I had run 0.49 miles; I knew I had run at least 49.

You just can't trust this new-fangled technology anyway. Whatever. It was a near-death experience. And then the irritating piece of software asked if I wanted to share the results with my friends on Twitter and Facebook. Seriously? Where were these friends when I was in desperate need of oxygen?

That near-death experience help me decide that I am tired of hearing folks say that I carry my 190 lbs on my 5'9" frame "very well". I don't necessarily want my weight to be a situation, but I wouldn't mind getting some tone like The Situation (but please, please, hold the tan for the love of all that is decent and natural). Franky, I am tired of everyone else getting fit. I see Derek taunting me with Runkeeper stats on Facebook. Like every day, seemingly. I got Cass over there, running marathons, and now deliberately getting on my nerves by doing triathlons. I mean, come on. Pam, Heather, Jen... all y'all infuriate me.

Even my kid brother is all out, running and getting in shape. This truly provokes me, because I suspect he could probably beat my 0.49-mile time.

I am calling myself out. Why? Because I know y'all will call me out,. I know y'all hold me accountable in my quest to preemptively prepare for the inevitable "Fit-Bodied Baptist Church Workers" reality series.

I am gonna need some Bengay.