Exercise is like smoking -
* it can be highly addictive,
* It's definitely not something I'm addicted to,
* People do it socially to make new friends,
* Doctors talk about it all the time,
* EVERYBODY hates it the first few times they do it...
After my foray into the world of running this weekend I've come out with a curious assessment of my physiognomy - I must run like a complete special case. I was expecting to wake up with my legs feeling like iron bars had been attached to my bum. I thought my joints would ache and my calves would want to lie down for a month of mondays.
In fact, my legs are fine. What hurts is my ribs. My ribs? I can assure you I did not do the worm all the way round so I have no idea why this can be? Do I run in a wiggly, jiggly way? Squirming my torso all around the shot so that my stomach muscles get a mighty fine work out? I have no idea. I'm going to have to get a video replay of my run and see whether it looks as bad as I imagine. I imagine I look like a flaily small child looking for its mother. Brilliant.
Yesterday I attended my Grandfather's 80th birthday. Happy birthday to him. That is all on that one.
This evening I attempt the infamous King Gong at the Comedy Store - this is a barbaric night of epic proportions and may results in some comic and real death...real death may even be favourable. Yikes!
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