I’m beginning to agree with Gator fan about why the Saint John’s River flows north. Georgia is still on fire and I have to do my cardio inside. I hate doing my cardio inside. Jesus didn’t die on the cross so I would have to deal with the elliptical machine. Wednesday I tried to run in the smoke; fully prepared to run slower than I wanted to, and at about the two mile mark my legs quit. My thighs hurt. I had to turn around. I can manage my heart and lungs, but when my legs seize up it’s time to reevaluate the current course of action. I had a long run planned and it was ruined by a forest fire in a foreign state. If there is a forest fire in Taiwan and some of the smoke drifts into China it’s considered an act of war – ultimately leading to the inevitable nuclear holocaust of World War III. I’m not advocating the invasion of Georgia by Florida but we could start charging Georgians to enter the state on their way to Universal Studios – they’re not classy enough to go to Disney. Yeah I know the Marxist mantra, forest fires are nature’s way of recycling old trees and stimulating new growth, but what does that have to do with me? I’m trying to get my exercise on, and I don’t want to run on the treadmill. I’m not a gerbil. Also, when I’m on a cardio machine Earth, Wind, and Fire doesn’t get it done. I have to listen to Metal, and when I listen to Metal I know that I make funny faces. I can’t help it. So at best I look like I have Tourette’s. At worst I look like a full blown 215 lb. black schizophrenic trying to deal with the voices in my head, which technically I am. Chicks don’t dig that.
3 comments:
You know, we have our own Florida forest fires now in Putnam County. So, you'll have to quit blaming Georgia for your work out woes. At least inside, you're getting your money's worth for your membership. Plus, I still dig you even though I've seen how you look in the gym.
215 lb schizo black guys are a tremendous attraction (to parole officers, that is).
Come run with the slow folk of Fleming Island. We can breathe out in the burbs.
Old chicks dig it and because our eyesight is flawed and fuzzy at best, you resemble an ebony Rocky Balboa in Steve Austin bionic splendor on the treadmill.
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