You know
what you look like when you limp slowly through a mall in exercise gear? An inappropriately dressed dick.
That’s
lesson number one from the school of ‘Get Just Fit Enough to Injure Yourself
Properly’. Catchy title, I know. I’m getting t-shirts made.
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| If it no longer looks or acts like an ankle... does word 'ankle' really still apply? |
Lesson
number two is to remove all songs from your jogging playlist that talk about
gravity winning in the end, or reference falling. Because nobody likes an ironic soundtrack
while they whimper and limp. Next thing
you know, you start muttering at your iPod shuffle: “Why would you play that?” and “Seriously,
do you hate me?”… which when combined with the limping and deeply
unflattering clothing just makes people give you side eye.
This is my
tradition – first decide to get in shape, next force self to go to the gym
despite finding it agonizingly boring (and also agonizing because, you know…
effort), thirdly start to make headway and gain some level of fitness, then
fourthly, injure self. That’s what we in
the business of weak ankles call a full stop.
The last
thought to pass through my head before I went down like a sack of shit mid-run
was:
‘Hey, I’m actually finally fit enough to
enjoy this… I bet I don’t even look like I’m having an asthma attack while I do
it now.’
That
sentiment was basically the harbinger of my inevitable doom. I should never, ever, under any circumstance,
no matter the temptation allow myself to think that. Not even after a year of being injury free,
not even as a passing notion – Irony is a patient bitch, and she’s always
watching. Always.
Fitness has long
been a safer bet for me when it’s happened by accident – like the time I hiked
the Machu Picchu trail and the lack of oxygen just sucked the fat right out of
me, or that year I spent sprinting after wayward special needs kids as a part
time job. Now those are reliable ways to
get in good condition. Some of those
kids can really run.
But actually
trying to become a person in
possession of The Fitness really does seem like playing Russian roulette,
except instead of a gun you’re pulling the trigger on gravity. And it’s loaded with your own body weight, bad
eyesight, and uneven pavement. And instead of death, the consequences could be
a really long walk home, with added sobbing if you’re already feeling
emotionally fragile.
Really ran with that analogy, didn’t I? Ran with it, then sort of fell over and
limped away from it at the end. Because
I’m consistent.
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No stunt ankles were used in the making of this post.
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In
summation, consider this a public safety announcement: for the sake of your
health, never exercise on purpose. Down
that path lies pain, irritation at self, and the stunning realisation that the
Haim song ‘Falling’ is really a taunting missive from them to you.
Painefull
Out
