Jogging in the Dark
193.8
Happy
Sunday, readers! I know some of you are champing at the bit for news of The Dragon of Doughton Park. I sooooo
want to release it before Halloween, but I still don’t have the cover
available. I am waiting… patiently (yeah, right). We are a step closer,
however, because this week Rich Westover provided me with an outstanding
re-design of the cover for the new, improved edition of The Draculata Nest, which will be released along with Dragon. I think this will be much more attractive on bookshelves than
the original. Check it out…
Now that he’s done with the first one, and
we’ve established somewhat of a theme,
he expects the next cover to be available relatively quickly. Yaaaay! Not only
are these books beginning to look as good on the outside as readers have found
them to be on the inside, but they will be released in an expanded number of
venues.
Well,
for those of you who didn’t read the original blog post, “Battle of the Bulge,”
you may have been wondering what the number is that has appeared at the top of
each post recently. It is my weight, in pounds. Yes, I’ve been trying to shame
myself into losing 15 or 20 of those for health and aesthetic reasons. Overall,
I can’t say it is working all that well, as you can tell from this week’s
number, but I am committed. This week I took another desperate step towards the
world of thin. I started jogging!
Jogging is old school, I’ll admit. There are
any number of kinder, gentler aerobic activities with better health benefits
around (Zumba, anyone?). My chiropractor suggested I not jog too much a few years back, and my usual aerobic activity since
then has been cycling. But with my work
schedule and the days getting shorter, I can’t find enough time during the
daylight hours to ride.
But, I can jog in the dark. In fact, it’s
the best time to do it. No one can see me. The darkness wraps me in a warm
blanket of anonymity. The reduced perspective from the lack of light makes it
seem like I’m going faster. As long as I don’t run into a tree or something…
So Tuesday morning my alarm goes off at 5
am. The weather forecast is for clear and not cold. My plan is to allow myself
a half-hour warm-up, hit the jogging trail by 5:30, and make it back by 6:30 or
so for a shower and breakfast. I can be at work by 7:30, exercised and ready
for the day.
But motivation is lacking. I automatically
hit the snooze button, yet before I can drift back off to sleep I have the
mother of all sneezing fits (allergies – it’s that time of year for me), which
wakes me sufficiently that I haul myself out of bed. I pull on some sweats and
stand barefoot in the dark of my living room. I only have 15 minutes left now,
and I haven’t begun my warm-up
I lift my arms over my head and inhale
deeply, which morphs into a huge yawn. I try to start loosening up the
vertebrae in my upper back with some neck and shoulder rolls. My chin drops to
my chest and stays there. I start the internal pep talk…
Are
you asleep?
No. I’m doing neck rolls.
Then move your neck.
Eventually I get down on my hands and knees
to work on loosening my spine…
You’re
not moving.
This is a yoga pose. It’s called Table.
You’re not moving.
It’s yoga. Table.
You’re wasting time. You need to move.
Okay.
Now what are you doing?
This is Puppy. More yoga.
Are you asleep?
Maybe.
We continue in this vein for another ten
minutes. It’s time to go. In fact, it’s past time, already 5:35.
We
gotta go.
I’m not warmed up yet
You can warm up on the walk to the park.
My internal motivator makes sense. We’re out
the door, and as we walk the two hundred yards or so to the greenway, I do
begin to warm up. In fact, it’s nice out this morning, and as I emerge from the
wooded path that connects my apartment complex to the park wherein lies the
greenway, it is suddenly all worth it.
A waning gibbous moon illuminates the
landscape, a gentle slope past soccer fields and a dog park towards the jogging
trail that lies just across McAlpine Creek. A few bright stars are prominent in
the sky, and the slope leading up towards Sardis Road on the other side of the
creek is like a giant Christmas tree lit with lights that move through yellow,
amber, and even the red of the blinking safety lights marking a cell phone tower.
It’s beautiful. What a way to start the day!
When I get to the trail, I stretch my legs
one final time and take off jogging. I’ll go to the first mileage marker, walk
some, then start jogging again. There’s a spring in my step. I think maybe I’m
not in that bad a shape after all. But as the air begins to hit spots in my
lungs that haven’t had oxygen in months, my breathing becomes labored. I’m
gasping for air when voices startle me from behind. A group of three runners
passes by, thin, shirtless, and chatting to each other like they don’t even
have to breathe. They fly past me like I’m standing still.
I am
standing still. I’ve stopped. Can’t breathe. I force myself to start walking,
and notice that I’ve reached my mileage marker. Okay, I was going to start
walking at this point anyway. I meant to do that. Yeah, that’s it.
I begin to catch my breath as I continue to
walk, but I become aware of a dull ache in the front of my left leg at the hip
joint, a reminder of the stress injury that sidelined me that last time I tried
this.
It’s all in your mind.
Feels like it’s in my leg.
Huffing and puffing, I skid to a stop at the
next mileage marker and begin walking, this time with a distinct limp.
You
made it.
My leg hurts.
But you made it, and you’re not sucking for
air as bad as you were. Walk it off.
I do
walk it off. It actually feels kind of good to be breathing deeply. But the
next mileage marker comes too soon, and it’s time to jog again. With the first
step, the ache in my leg becomes a sharp pain.
Ignore
it.
The
sharpness of the pain subsides, but radiates across my pelvis to my other leg. I
hobble to the next mileage marker and start walking again. This cycle of
torture and respite continues for about two miles until I finally reach my
goal. I stumble out of the woods at the edge of a small lake. There is a warm
glow in the east and a gentle mist that hangs over the calm water. A gaggle of
Canadian geese glide gently through the mist in a V-formation and ski
gracefully to a stop in the middle of the lake.
It’s an idyllic scene. But I miss it. I’m in
total pain from the waist down. I can barely put one foot in front of the
other, and my eyes are glued to the ground lest I stumble and fall. I stagger
past the geese, listing back and forth across the trail like I’ve downed a
fifth of bourbon. The gentle slope back up to my complex feels like I’m
climbing Mount Everest. I can barely make it up the stairs to my second floor
apartment. I sink painfully to my knees in my living room, knowing that if I
don’t stretch it’ll just get worse.
Table
again?
Shut up.
After a few minutes, I’m done. I don’t
remember if I’ve stretched, but I’m in a different position, so I must have
done something. It hurts to stand up. It hurts to walk. A warm shower gives
some temporary relief, but I’m moving so slowly that I’m almost a half-hour
late for work. Co-workers keep asking me what’s wrong. I tell them I jogged
this morning. I get no encouragement, only looks of concern or insensitive
laughter.
Folks, it took me almost two days to recover
from that episode. I tried it again on Friday. I went a little farther, it didn’t
hurt quite as bad, and it didn’t take me as long to recover. But I’m not sure
if I’m going to keep it up. I kind of have a “no pain, no pain” philosophy.
Jogging hurts, and I think my body’s trying to send me a message. I’m going to
think about it, body, and get back to you on that.
Hey,remember, folks:
From now until the time Dragon goes on sale, the ebook price for The Draculata Nest has been reduced to only $0.99. You can purchase
it through one of the following venues. Click
on the link that applies to you.
Until
next time… Happy Reading!
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