Sir, something has to be done to combat the panic. It’s not a panic, you fool! It's stress eating.
March 16th,
2020
Nevada’s governor orders
closure of all nonessential businesses for the next 30 days. Gyms and public
pools are on his list.
Oh man, COVID-19 lock-down has
postponed my triumphant return to the gym and the swimming pool. Unfortunately, the governor’s strict orders leave limited workout options. P90X? Burpees and push-ups? Wall sits and
planks? All good possibilities for winter confinement, but the weather is
amazing right now! So it pains me to write this... the time has come to lace up
my running sneakers.
With tons of free time
and fresh air after work, the best cardio exercise for these trying days
ahead is running. Not the worst option on the table. Yet, running is pretty
freaking crappy at my weight and fitness level following months upon months of little to no real activity. To make matters worse the words of the
immortal ODJ race through my head. “I only run from cops and bears.” Vegas ain’t got no bears, and I
pull over when the lights begin flashing.
It’s time to run Forest!
Sure wish I
had lost fifty pounds before the apocalypse began. (That stupid two-month Tough
Mudder Bootcamp experiment was nothing but an exercise pep-rally.)
My first runs did not
disappoint. Fat thighs rubbing, wheezing, and cotton-mouth really boosted the
confidence. Mothers shielded their young children from the sight of this
physical specimen galloping down the sidewalk. “Mommy, mommy! The big man looks
hurt.” She shoots the concerned child a look of “Don’t stare, it is impolite.” The mother then quickly shoots me a look of “Please wait to expire until you’re
around the corner. I have a roast in the crockpot, and the bike cop
will want a written statement.”
As the virus keeps our
routines on pause, I will continue to run my runs. Slow and painfully. Share a
prayer that the hoarding herds overlook IcyHot and Gold Bond in pursuit
of toilet paper.
