And a Child Shall Lead Them

I’m old, decrepit and hopelessly out of shape.   My idea of a work out is to exercise my options.  Once I was a college athlete who could run forever.  My weight never fluctuated from 181 pounds no matter what I ate.  Then after college my exercise routine changed.  Now

 I run.... my mouth,

 I jog ......my memory,

 I lift ...... my fork

 and I skip..... good meals.

  Slowly the pounds were added.  Trim became tired, svelte changed to slob and fit went to fat.  I really never tried any diet or exercise program until now.

My granddaughter was at our house on a Tuesday night and she commented that she was running 3 miles every week on the treadmill now.  She has never been a fitness freak but she is the most competitive 6^th grader I know.  She was disappointed because she had run a mile in P.E. but her time was not as fast as she had run weeks earlier.  She decided to run 3 miles every week until school was out.  I was impressed and to help her I told her I would run 3 miles per week myself and we would help keep each other accountable.  I forgot all about this stupid promise until the next day when she called at supper time.  She asked for me and then she told me she had just finished her second mile for the week.  How was I doing?  Busted!  I told her I would start that night so after supper I changed my clothes and started running on our treadmill.  It was as if I had no brain and was controlled by youthful exuberance.  I didn’t stretch and I didn’t warm up.  Turn the machine on and away we go.  In no time flat I was done.  This was going to be a piece of cake.  Later that night the bear jumped on me.  I hadn’t used good shoes so the ball on my right foot was now throbbing.  My back hurt.  I could hardly stretch my left leg. 

I took Thursday off to heal and tried again on Friday night. 

I had no energy and my foot still hurt.

After 2 minutes my legs felt like cement.

After 4 minutes my side was burning.

After 6 minutes my feet were numb.  Normally I can’t see my feet but now I couldn’t feel them either.

Minute 8; breathing hard, there was a knife in my side, my lungs were burning and my knees were throbbing. 

Minute 10; I had to turn the speed setting down to the lowest level to keep from falling off.

Minute 12; I was starring in a remake of a desert movie where the hero vainly crawls through the sand, panting for water.  I had gone a mile and a half so I called it quits for that night.

The next day my body still hurt and I didn’t want to get back on this medieval torture machine.  I had, however made a promise to my granddaughter so I really had no choice.  This day I decided to lessen the pain by listening to Josh Groban as I ran.  I have discovered that most recorded vocal music is better when I direct the orchestra backing the singer (I used to direct a church choir).  I seem to have the ability to bring the strings to their full rich lush potential with my big sweeping arm movements and sensitive interpretation.  Two things make this difficult on a treadmill.  #1. The side to side arm motion of directing tends to conflict with forward motion of the legs.  #2. The speed of the treadmill doesn’t necessarily match the tempo of the music.  Two problems indeed for mere mortals but I am Norwegian and us rugged hardy Norsemen have never let lack of grace or coordination deter us.

The treadmill picked up speed and I was jogging at 4.5 mph.  This was not a problem for these chiseled calves and thighs.  I turned the machine up to 5.5 mph. The music was moving much slower at 60 beats per minute (andante) so it took a conscious effort to maintain my rhythm.  As the music swelled my right arm hit the water bottle sitting in the console and I lunged to catch it so the water wouldn’t douse the electrical panel.  Unfortunately I had already run for 2 minutes so I was tired and my body just wouldn’t do what I wanted it to.  My right toe stuck on the tread and I was thrown into the console.  Water went flying everywhere as I then careened into the left arm of the treadmill since this perpetual motion machine was still running.  I frantically tried to grab the front console but by this time my upper body was being thrown off the right arm of the treadmill and my feet were leaving scrape marks on the back wall.  I remember thinking, “this really isn’t going to end well” right before I landed on the boom box sitting on the floor to the right of the treadmill.  There was an awful screech from the speakers right before the cord was ripped out of the socket by my size 12 tennis shoes and then mercifully all noise and motion ceased. 

I laid there for a moment and mentally surveyed my pathetic situation.  My ribs hurt from hitting the console.  My back hurt from being thrown into the left support arm of the treadmill.  My right thigh was throbbing and my left hip hurt from the glancing blow of the boom box.  I would live but I cried since there was now a permanent scratch in my CD.  I gingerly picked myself up and I knew there was only one thing left to do.  I drove two blocks to the nearest QT and got a candy bar since chocolate has always been the best medicine.  I learned a valuable lesson that day:  Exercise is a dangerous activity and should be avoided at all costs.