We had an astoundingly successful garage sale a few weeks ago and one of the items I put up was a pair of slightly used Nike running shoes, with emphasis on the word slightly. I got them when I was delusional--- thinking I was an athlete of olympic proportions trapped in the body of a 30-something, 108-pound geek. I have absolutely no idea why I thought that, when the fact that my muscles have all but atrophied from lack of exercise should have been a clear indication (a warning in bright, blinking lights) to the contrary. Maybe, because I perspire like I'm pre-menopausal, I figured I should DO something to justify my hyper sweat glands. Whatever the reason, boy, was I wrong.
Shod in brand new Nikes, my friend G and I went jogging around UP, going counter-clockwise from the College of Engineering. We started at a brisk walk, hoping to gain momentum eventually. In front of the Vargas Museum, we gradually picked up speed, but the distance we had already covered and the change in pace proved to be more exhausting than I was willing to admit. I was overwhelmed by thoughts of ice cold beverages and an assortment of irreverent words with every step.
"Until where?" G asked.
"Until we reach that man selling fishballs."
"Uhm, but he's moving toward us..."
That pair of Nikes didn't even go around the UP academic oval completely. I never wore them again. The next time G would invite me for a run, I would say I don't see the logic in running around in circles at a speed of 3 km/hr, and that I'll just meet her for snacks when she's done.
Posts
