I don’t know what came over me, but I exercised. I walked four whole blocks to the convenience store pushing my bike. I had to take three breaks along the way. I filled up the tires and rode back. It was a total of six tenths of a mile over the ground and not one saloon along the long, exhausting route.
My well earned ‘couch potato’ image is in shatters. Oh the shame of it all.
I suppose that we all have to fight back these sudden impulses. When I was a kid I left my nose print on every candy store window in town. Come to think of it, I still do occasionally. Much to the same result of me being chased down the street by an angry, broom swinging, confectioner. (People who deal with children should never use language like that.)
I suppose this exercise thing is a family trait. Our Family Crest has a guy leaping over a fence in the moonlight with a pig under his arm. Believe it or not I used to be a runner. Back in my high school days I was a pretty decent medium distance runner. Then the Army go a hold of me and that was the end of my “Joy of Running” feelings.
I remember a particularly sadistic platoon sergeant. Not that one would describe any platoon sergeant as warm and cuddly. It was three miles at a seven minute pace five times a week and six miles on Saturday.
That Saturday run was a killer and the ‘plat daddy’ was not happy until at least half the platoon was strung out along the trail laying in a pool of their vomit. Not hard to accomplish since most of those troopers were down town the night before and they were definitely not at choir practice.
Getting back to my recent little tromp. It must have to be, in part, due to the beautiful warm, sunny day last Sunday. I was sitting out on the porch contemplating a choice of cocktails when I glanced over and there was the bike with tires flatter then yesterday’s beer.
That was when the second part kicked in. There is nothing quite like guilt to make a person do dumb things. I got to thinking about the people who are older then me that walk briskly by every day. Then there is the constant stream of commercials on TV that have geriatric gymnasts bounding around like teenagers.
So one of the voices in my head, the evil one, said, “You are out of shape, Bubble butt. You must exercise and hurt yourself.” And like a dummy I did. That explains why the house reeks of industrial strength Ben-Gay.
My friend suggested that I join ‘AA’ not the alcohol one, but “Athletics Anonymous”. If you get an overwhelming urge to do anything physical you call your sponsor and he talks to you until he hears a beer can opening in the background.
Where do I sign up? © 2014, Jim McGowan
Well, the 2014 Winter Olympics are over. I would like to add a heartfelt ‘finally’ to that statement. Around here our principal winter sport is competitive shivering and we have been doing a lot of that this past month. Our second most unpopular event is swearing at the heating bill and there have been a few beauties.
Grannie Fannie Feinstermach won the gold in that competition by blistering all the paint off her front porch and had the mailman running down the sidewalk screaming with his hands clamped on his ears and he is a retired infantry platoon sergeant.
I guess it is just me. I find it difficult to be a spectator at sports where you bring your beer in a cooler in order to keep it from freezing. There is something so wrong with that. Then there are the sports.
Take figure skating. Graceful, slender skaters in skin tight, scanty costumes, girls too, leaping, dancing, whirling across the ice in pairs and singles are something to see. However, I think there is room for improvement.
What do you say we divide up the competitors by weight? Picture, if you will, some guy trying to hoist above his head a partner that comes in at 300 pounds plus. If they go down in a heap it would be interesting. If the ice gives way that would be a real crowd pleaser.
Down hill skiing is the only sport to which I can truly relate. Those participants have to be the biggest bunch of loony tunes that have ever strapped boards to their feet. Hurtling down the steepest slopes imaginable at truly break neck speeds is beyond thrilling. Some even make it across the finish line, but quite a few do not and the last we see of them is as they fly off the course and into the tree tops on the sides of the run. I once saw a single ski, sans skier cross the finish line, the crowd applauded. You cannot convince me that there are not drugs involved.
I would love to give skiing a try, but I cannot find a downhill lake around here.
Curling! Honestly, curling? These guys call this a sport. Give me a break If I have ever seen a phony excuse for guys to get out of the house and drink beer, curling is it. Shoving rocks with handles across a sheet of ice with two or three other folks sweeping their brains out with the oddest looking ‘brooms’ is just plain goofy. The stone goes into the target and makes the slightest ‘tick’ on an opponent’s stone and the fans go wild. I guess it does not take much to make a Canuck happy during their long cold winters.
But here is a suggestion. Why not combine curling with hockey? Think about it, one team of sweepers going up the ice and their opponents charging down swinging their brooms and howling like a Comanche war party.
Oh yeah, full contact curling!© 2014, Jim McGowan
We here in Harmony County do not do cold and shivering. We do hot and sweating. So when the recent dose of “Global Warming” hit here in the form of large, white, cold flakes that fell from the sky, commonly described by the confused locals by pointing to the sky and saying, “Uh uh” . Things got more weird then usual.
I suppose that part of the reason for the local craziness was due to a national station that will be nameless; however they broadcast nothing but weather forecasts 24/7. Even the most laid back of viewers might smash the panic button when the weather nerd on the screen is running back and forth with his hair on fire screaming “We’re all gonna die!”
If you recall, about two or three weeks back we got our first dusting. Our neighbors to the west in Atlanta took the bad weather rule book and ignored it completely. Even our Governor’s brother got stuck for 27 hours on the I-285 bypass. But when Governor Haley bemoaned his predicament she did not get the desired response. The kindest comment heard around here was, ‘Tough buns.”
However, the Hotlantans certainly learned from their mistakes. When the next winter storm hit town last week things were entirely different. Schools closed early, the streets were deserted and the usual ‘bread and milk’ stampede was over and done before the first hint of snow. The Harmony Countidiots were also prepared, but they put their special spin on it.
We have all seen the pictures of the yards and yards of empty shelves and an off camera voice yammering on about how there was a huge rush to buy bread. Honestly, if you have seen one empty shelf you have seen them all. We too had empty shelves our, as you might expect, were in the liquor stores. Even Granny Fannie Feinstermacher was cleaned out of her stock of Carolina Skull Crusher.
Unlike other areas our schools were open with hopes on the part of most parents that they would be stuck there. The idea of being stuck in the house with the little terrorists for days has no appeal at all. You have to remember that family bonding in HC is not so much warm fuzzies as it has to do with bail bonding.
Plowing the streets and keeping the roads clear is not that big a deal in Harmony County. Around here we pride ourselves on having the highest ratio of four wheeled drive vehicles to people. Even Granny Fannie is an active participant in the local monster truck rallies. One vehicle that is a bit disconcerting is that the local undertaker has an all terrain hearse with a rifle rack. This is one occasion where the principal passenger better be buckled up.
But Spring is just around the corner and I’m glad that warm weather is on the way. However, if I hear anybody complain about the hot weather I’m going to slap their face off.© 2014, Jim McGowan