Thursday, December 08, 2005

Fitter... Happier...

Sadly, there's some oft overlooked part of my brain that seems ever so slightly obsessed with body image. Only a little bit obsessed, mind you, but obsessed nonetheless. I'm sure most of you are familiar with it's ranting:

"Man, you are getting to be one tubby looking IT guy. When was the last time you actually did something huh? You think you can just live forever drinking beer and sitting around banging keys all day? Get off your lazy ass and get some regular exercise!!"

Most of the time this Exercise Bit Of My Brain (EBOMB) is totally outvoted by the rest of my smart, lazy brain, who would rather solve problems and talk nonsense, but today, that little part of my brain got it's way.

I woke up early to go for a run. I'm not, by any stretch of the imagination, or through any creative use of the word, in any sense, a runner. The whole thing seemed a little embarrassing to me. I was standing on the road, in stupid looking clothes, feeling stupid, and I was supposed to start to run?

"Go On!" urges, EBOMB, "Get on with it..."

Okay. I start to plod down Badgery street, despite the notable absence of anything chasing me or any other urgent calamity.

And off I went. For a while it was kind of fun. There's a nice rhythm to running.

"Okay," I think, "maybe I get it after all..."

"See?" smiles EBOMB.

Then I remembered why it was that I never did very well in this whole running caper. At school, I was always one of those 'cool' kids who refused to run the cross country race - I would always walk at the back and try to impress some equally lazy girls. This wasn't because I didn't want to run (although there was no way I would admit that in high school) , but because whenever I try to run, I have an instant Asthma attack.

I can't figure out how my lungs work. I think they must be some kind of communists. I wonder if there was some conversation going on between them against the sound of feet pounding the concrete:
Lung 1: "Man, I sure am breathing. Something must be chasing us. I hope we get away..."
Lung 2: "Nah- I think he's running for fun"
Lung 1: "Running for fun? What kind of loser are we?"
Lung 2: "Oh - some guff about being more productive, not drinking too much.."
Lung 1: "Bugger that, let's go on strike."
Lung 2: "Strike, you reckon? I like your thinking, Comrade..."

So, I stagger home, trying to breathe through lungs that have filled themselves up with treacle, and wheezing like the air coming out of a rubber ducky's ass. Thanks to the magic of Salbutomol,(Which was almost definitely created by a lazy smart person), I get to breathe and blog again. Both of which are nice. Mainly breathing, though.

Apparently it's a common thing called EIA -Exercise Induced Asthma (which is obviously God's way of telling me to be a lazy IT guy). And the EBOMB is notably silent...

Fitter... Happier...More Productive...

1 comment:

  1. Yo,

    You might want to think about the longer term treatment options for asthma (usually mild steroids like becotide), combined with forms of exercise which train your breathing to be regular (especially swimming apparently, which I'm guessing is something you may enjoy more anyway).