by AL GARCIA
A Fat man's view on Jogging
|There used to be a time when I could run for hours. When my feet were flying and they never touched the ground.
During the warm Summer evenings, my brothers and I would run 5 miles from Mom's house up Magnolia bridge and back up and around Knott's Berry farm then back home again.
They'd fall down exhausted and spent with their T shirts drenched with sweat, but not me, I still had many miles left in me. I would take off and put on another 2 to 3 miles and then come back home. And EVEN then I wanted to run some more.
That was then, This is now. Running now a days seems as if someone has tied a hundred pound sand bag to each leg. The weight fighting my every move, my every step. Straining muscles trying to move dead weight.
"I can do this" I say to myself enthusiastically as my jog starts. Looking around it occurs to me that I see people watching me. are they cheering or jeering. I don't know, but In the back of my mind I can hear them thinking:
"Go chubby!!!! you can do it!!!"
or another shaking their head and saying:
"ohhhh honey..... nice try... but you won't make it..."
Jogging down the sidewalk the cool spring wind feels good and the Rocky theme is playing in my mind. The miles pass along with every step. "I can do this!" I tell myself again as I try not to think of the long path ahead.
My blubber swishes back and forth around me with every step. My body encased in a suit of jello.
I wonder if any one hears the thunder of old sneakers, the rumble of fat feet as the ground is punished with every step. I look around and no one seems to have their fingers in their ears to block the noise.
I continue to jog and each breath is now becoming a struggle. My chest sucks in air but it's almost not enough. I think to myself, "It must be a mile!"
I look down at my watch and I'm shocked as I manage to blurt out "It's barely been 45 seconds!"
I suck in air deeper, my lungs are burning it's no use. I can't breathe. I stop.
"ohhhh honey..... nice try... But I tried telling you that you wouldn't make it but you just wouldn't listen..." the voice said again.
My heart is ready to explode out of my chest. I'm breathing so hard I'm wheezing. And then that's when the realization hits me that I hate what I've let my body become. But there's no arguing, only the fight to catch that next breath.
It wouldn't be too bad if I was to throw my hands in the air in surrender and say "Well I am a Fat Bastard after all"
But what gets me is remembering the days of old where my body was fit and my feet had wings. Where I felt as quick as the Greek god Hermes.
No, I'm not the god Hermes. Not today at least. But soon. Very Soon.