Monday, December 13, 2004
|2.5||40 mins.||Home to PG track and back||what does it matter?|
On Sunday I played golf. I walked up and down hills. I felt good. I felt trim. I was a gazelle. So I treated myself. I had a burger. With cheese. (Sorry G-d.) And bacon. (Boy am I in trouble with the rebbe now.) And thousand-island dressing. And avacodo. And french fries. And ketchup. (It's important to eat vegetables.) And two beers. Twenty-ounce beers: one 40. (Dulled the pain of yet another Vikings fiasco.) That afternoon, I slept it off, and feeling guilty, I went to a Mexican restaurant and ordered a salad! (With no crispy taco shell, either.)
So, when I woke up this morning, I figured I woud still be in good shape to run. Boy was I wrong. I ran down to the track and everything seemed ok. Two miles into what was supposed to be a four-miler, I was suffering. Sucking wind. And on the day that I debuted my stylish new sweatband. So I quit. And walked. Maybe it was the interview with Yoko Ono (now apparently a dance-musc star) I was listening to on the radio that sapped my energy. But I think it was the food. And the drink. Or maybe I'm just a wuss.