Harmony County

2011 & 2009 Winner of "Best Humor Column" awarded by the SC Press Association

The only thing that doesn’t hurt is my pinky

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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


Written by harmonycounty

March 6, 2014 at 4:42 p03

Posted in Americana, Humor, Sports

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