Disclaimer: This conversation may or may not have actually occurred in the manner it is presented... or not. You should not attempt to recreate the conversations displayed in this blog, or you too may find yourself in a padded room.
Disclaimer #2 (wow… two in one post…. Fancy!) This conversation that may or may not have occurred was several months ago. I was feeling all over achieve-ey one night and wrote several posts. Today however, I’m feeling a bit tired and fussy …. So I decided to be lazy. The current state of my work out routine is… shall we say… non-existent. However, between the guilt, tiredness and tight jeans, I will be starting it up again in a week or so. I will keep you informed of my impending
torture exercise routine as it seems to continue to be great entertainment to those around me.
Simon Pegg in the movie Run Fat Boy, Run!. "I'm not fat... I'm just unfit!"
You may wonder why I choose to write again on my fancy schmancey walking routine that I call running. Well, here’s the deal. I really don’t like running. Exercise, really. I know it’s important to do, and I like the results. But the truth is, I can’t find anything about huffing, puffing, sweating and almost puking that is fun. The only solace I find in exercise is making fun of it and myself. Sorry if that’s boring, but no one said the truth had to be fun.
After a recent torture exercise session the hubs and I had the following conversation (or not):
Me: My knee is hurting.
Hubs: Let me see….(He pokes around on said knee and sizes it up to the other knee.) Yea, it’s just tendonitis.
Me: Tendonitis? Will my leg fall off?
Hubs: No, your leg won’t fall off. Don’t over react.
Me: Who me? Over-react… never!!! So about this flesh-eating disease. How long do I have?
Hubs: It’s just tendonitis. It’s painful, but it’s really not that bad.
Me: But my knee really hurts. Are you certain it isn’t gonna fall off?
Hubs: Positive. (HE’s positive… uh… right. I’m ALMOST a Dr. … or at least could play one on tv… except for that whole acting thing – which is crazy because I got mad doctor and actin’ skillz, yo!)
Me: Hmm …so you don’t think I have gout? What about leprosy? Rabies?
Hubs: Nope, no, and really, rabies?
Me: So my running career isn’t over?
Me: (Dangit!) ok, what about meds? Can I get good meds with it? Maybe some high powered muscle relaxer or morphine?
Hubs: No. And no one needs to see you on morphine.
Me: Oh yea… I don’t do well on that do I? (Recalling morphine incident of 2000. Lots of puking, not fun.)
Hubs: You will be fine. Maybe rest it for a day or two.
Me: So no running for a few days?
Hubs: Sure. Yea. Whatever. (clearly bored with this conversation – what with the baseball game on and all – No, honey, don’t worry about me. I’ll just hobble over to the corner and curl up in a ball and die. Never mind that I gave you three beautiful children… which is why I have to run to begin with!).
Me: Pretending to be sad. Well, ok… if I must rest, I must.
Later that evening, my youngest (10) comes into the room, and I have ice on my knee.
*Pickle: What’s wrong with your knee mom?
Me: It’s gout… It’s really bad. And my running career is over. (pretending to be sad).
Pickle: What’s gout?
Me: Go ask Dad.
From the other room…. A deep groan.
Again, I would petition you to pray for my poor husband.
*Names have been changed to protect the innocent. Someday these kids will be big enough to realize just how messed up I’ve made them, so at least they will have
animosity anonymity on their side.