My Ass

I don't know how many warning shots God is going to shoot over my bow, but I get the message. Friends and relatives dead at 60, 50, and 39, and it's not like the heart attack I had at 32 wasn't warning enough. Granted, Jeff going at 39 wasn't anything he could help.

Anyway, since I still have some heel spur symptoms over a year after my last attempt to get in shape back-fired, I'd been thinking of a bicycle. As in maybe I should buy one (I used to have one, but it got kinda trashed and I gave it away when I was clearing debris after the divorce). Maybe a used one at a thrift store or something.



I mentioned this at band practice, was going to check out a bike shop after practice and was offered the loan of this bike. Loan-to-buy, I guess you'd call it. If I keep it, I owe the owner $50. A bargain, I'm sure. And if I turn out not to be able to stick with it, at least I don't have the guilt of having spent a bunch of money for another dust collector.

I took it on a three mile run before going to the Brooksider to see Perpetual Change. Three miles, and it kicked my ass. I wanted a nap.

Tonight I did better, 5.4 miles and didn't feel as exhausted after. But I still have a lot of getting in shape to do.

My muscles aren't sore yet, but my ass is killing me.