Take care of yourself

I’ve said it before, and knock on wood: My greatest athletic skill is the ability to not get hurt.

 

Mine is being too dumb to know when to quit.

 

That’s my greatest message board posting skill.

 

Dick, if memory serves, we’re around the same age. Either way, I sure as fuck am not 18 anymore. Just doing the best I can with an increasingly shitty body.

 

I’m 41.

Thing is, when I was 18, I was overweight. And kind of a pussy.

 

At least you lost weight.

 

Hung that slider.

For real, though, one thing I’ve learned is that whether is come to exercise or anything else, the world tends to set incredible low expectations for people. Thus, a lot of people don’t really even know what real effort is. A woman I work with is 30. I like her. She says she “can’t” run a 10-minute mile. Of course she can. I could get her there in a month.

 

Woke up late -- 5:20 -- and was 99% sure I was going to just say fuckit and not go today.

These are the easiest days to let slide. Then you let another slide. Soon a week has passed.

So I dragged my ass out of bed to went to sweat like a bastard. Glad I did.

 

Those days usually tend to be some of my better workouts — at least the most satisfying.

 

Officially I finished 12th out of 1,078 four-tower participants in this year’s stair climb race. (About 1,400 overall, but a few hundred total wusses.) I partially credit Songbird for getting my ass on the incline.

 

Send me the 12th-place t-shirt.

 

It should read: "11th Loser."