Earlier this year, I realized I would either have to start exercising or stop drinking so much beer. Obviously, doing both was not an option, nor was the protrusive beer gut... 'cause let's face it, there's money to be made.
So, I strapped on the cheapest possible running shoes and headed over to the nearest body of water I could run around. I need not wax sentimental over the redemptive nature of Lake Merritt on a cool summer morning, but y'know, it's like, pretty and shit. Before long, I was jogging a few times a week, capable of circling the lake in its entirety without walking or feeling sore the next day.
Recently, I've found my knees are not handling the strain too well. Must I invest in good running shoes? Get a job to pay for them? I find myself so suddenly thrust into adulthood, and all because of childish, reckless drinking. Curse this aging frame.
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1 comment:
a job, hambone? whoa--that's heavy!
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