Wednesday, September 25, 2013

At the Point of Intersection between Gravity and Gravitas

I woke up Sunday morning with the best intentions.  Well, grading on the curve I suppose they were the "best intentions".  Not Mother Theresa "best intentions" or Dalai Lama "best intentions" to be sure.  But pretty damn good intentions nonetheless. 

Then, as often happens to me on the one day of the week I dedicate to the relentless pursuit of nothing in particular, my best intentions were left unfulfilled.  The Missus and I called an audible.  We ended up spending two-plus hours on an errand to which we had originally planned on dedicating fifteen minutes.  At least at errand's end we had accomplished what it was we had set out to do.  It might have taken a touch or ten longer than anticipated but we persevered. 

By the time we returned from our errand, the Yankees were fairly deep into the Mariano Rivera Day Pre-Game Ceremony, which I had been listening to in the car.  Upon our return, my action plan was to get changed and go running on what was yet another drop-dead gorgeous September day.  Instead I sat down in the living room and watched the rest of the Ceremony and - of course - the final home start of Andy Pettitte thereafter.  It turned out to be one hell of a game.

Given the close, competitive nature of the game I called the day's second audible.  Rather than go for a run outdoors I got changed and be-bopped downstairs to the basement to do a quick four miles on the treadmill.  We have a TV in the basement in front of the treadmill so I could root, root, root for the home team while I got in some much-needed cardio exercise. 

All was going according to Hoyle.  When I run short distances on the treadmill to alleviate the boredom associated with running on the human Habitrail I typically set the speed on the machine for not less than 8.0 miles per hour.  Even running in place, time passes with acceptable alacrity at 8.0 miles per hour.  At that pace, however, one works up a healthy sweat rather quickly.  Sunday afternoon it took me only 1.63 miles to work up a sweat that required a towel to control. 

I know it was 1.63 miles when that occurred because a few seconds later, while attempting to towel off the left side of my face (while running at close to 9.5 miles per hour) the left side of my left shoe came into contact with the left rail of the treadmill.  The odometer on the machine had just flipped 1.64 miles when I lost my balance and almost with no hesitation at all did my impersonation of Joe Frazier in his fight against George Foreman.

Much like the late, great Smokin' Joe I attempted get up while paying precious little attention to my surroundings.  As I put my feet back onto the treadmill - which was now cruising along at a robust 9.5 miles per hour, I bit turf again.  I laugh now thinking about it - as I did Sunday afternoon after I did it - because had anyone had a phone or a video camera in our basement while I did what I did, I would be up to 367,541 YouTube hits by now.  Truth be told, I was fortunate in that my hands held fast to the front rail on the treadmill, which is what kept me and my oversized noggin from getting launched like George Jetson right off of the machine. 

Lesson for the day?  No matter how many times you do something, never ever half-ass it.  You are either all in or.... are flat on your face whining about the pain in your scraped-up knees.  And nobody wants to be that guy, I assure you.


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