I Do Not Choose To Run

They are attractive young ladies and they live in my building. So, naturally, I must be friendly and listen to them and be social. They just moved into my building recently, a welcome relief from the nice but moldy people who make up my condo building. I usually keep pretty close tabs on the good-looking women who roam the halls. Anyway, these twenty-something's were all dolled up to go work out. They had the fashionable run clothes on, along with the fashionable headbands, and the fashionable water bottle. After exchanging pleasantries at the mailbox, one of the lasses asked me if I wanna come work out with them. They belong to one of those places, I believe they are called, ''health clubs'', where people go to fashionably sweat like fuckin animals. I pondered my response, because my natural instinct to a request from an attractive woman is to say yes. All guys are trained this way. Sadly, reader, I denied the request. Exercise and me, I told the girls, was like oil and water. But, I gleefully told them that I was into hygiene and would gladly help them shower down after their workout. That is the last time I have spoken to them....... I have proudly worn the banner of the non-exercise person ever since I can remember. It goes back to my childhood. Unless there was a game involved, like baseball, I did not choose to exert myself physically. The concept of running around a track during gym class always filled me with horror. I always seemed to have my P.E. class first thing in the morning. At 7:30 am, every day, the gym class would be forced to run around a track for, however many Godforsaken feet. This was a tall order that never was popular among my crowd of friends. We wanted to go back to bed or go eat some breakfast. What sadist would want to run three miles so early in the morning for no money? But, I learned fairly quickly that you did not technically have to run. As long as you walked at a steady pace, the lesbian gym teacher could not give you a failing grade. Soon, I recruited other willing souls in my anti-running campaign. After a while, our running class looked liked a March Of Dimes Walk-A-Thon. And, we passed the gym class!!! So there!!!....... Once school was over and I graduated, the threats for daily exercises evaporated. I was free to take charge of my body, something I've had a grip on ever since. But, I was young, and, as we all remember, when you are young, you can eat just about any fattening foods and won't gain a pound. However, as we also know, your body turns into your sworn enemy as you get older. Around the age of thirty five, my stomach muscles exploded and I expanded sideways. I'm a Italian male, so, I always had a bit of a spare tire, but, it started to go into areas that I had no idea I had skin attached to. Suddenly, my fighting weight of 182 pounds that I had in my twenties, grew closer to the two hundred pounds mark. So, one day, I decided to do the dreaded exercise of running....... Like a prizefighter, I awoke at dawn. This was after Christmas, so, I was on vacation. And, with it being after the holidays, I had an extra couple of pounds of holiday cheer wrapped around my gut. The alarm clock went off and I naturally turned it off and went back to sleep for two hours. Then, when my bladder told me that we have to do a bathroom break, I stumbled out of bed. While I stood there admiring my urine stream, it suddenly dawned on me that I had picked this day to go running. After trying to talk myself out of it, I finally succumbed and got my sweat pants on [they weren't fashionable], my ''Home Of The Whopper'' t-shirt that was a recent gift from the local priest, and went out into the cold to start running......... I ran pretty good, I must say. The first three steps went quite well. Then, the pain of more asphalt underneath me started to attack me. Passerby's looked alarmingly at me. Here I was, a man in his mid-thirties, sweating and crying. Somehow, I made it out of my neighborhood and went towards the heart of Schaumburg, the mega-center of shopping, Woodfield Mall. A strange thing happened as the steps turned into miles: I actually was doing this!!! There was no one following me. I never thought I could run this distance without someone chasing me with a gun. Somewhere, from the Outer Regions of Reality, the theme from ''Rocky'' was playing. Soon, young kids started to trail after me [never mind that six elderly people lapped me with their walkers]. Suddenly, I was a hometown hero, people chanting my name, yelling for me to go the distance. And, when I arrived at Woodfield---- this was several miles remember, not bad for a novice runner---- I felt a sense of achievement. I had pushed my body to the extreme and survived the battle against my laziness. I was exhausted but proud. I could not run another step........ And, then it hit me: aw, shit, how do I get home now? So, I took the bus home. And, fortunately for me, the bus stopped right in front of McDonald's!!! I went in and toasted my success in losing weight by eating two ''Royales, with cheese''. Some greasy fries made a welcome trip down my throat, along with a tasty milkshake. In total, my running the several miles to Woodfield made me gain two pounds........ That night, when I awoke from my coma, I realized how foolish it was for me to exercise. Even my doctor, who preaches the tedious mantra of exercise and healthy eating, has a stomach that could house two of mine and some change. I just do not possess that gene to work-out. And, I'm glad I do not have that gene. It is too much pressure to feed that enemy within by constantly exercising. My hat is off to those that can get their Jones up by working out. I see these people, filled with joy and happiness, run these marathons. They go twenty or thirty miles!!!! Good for them!!!! I respect them for their dedication!!!! The last marathon I watched on television showed our finest, living out their fantasy of finishing a marathon. I was proud for them as I was sitting on my couch eating a stack of pancakes. When they hit the finishing line, there were tears of joy flowing from them, a rightful pride at this personal achievement. I did not see this scene, of course. I was taking my nap........ In the final analysis, I could stand to lose about twenty pounds. My health would benefit from it, along with my abused belts. I must confess to riding my stationary bike about five miles a day while I watch the Food Network. And, contrary to public perception about me, I do eat healthy during the week. A lot of chicken and fish. Brown rice. Some spinach. It is just on the weekends that I turn into Mr. Hyde. I drink the spirit drinks and wash them down with a good, unhealthy nosh. Yeah, I concede, it very well may catch up to me. But, almost everyone has their own personal vice, be it alcohol, controlled substances, smoking, or overeating. Food may very well shorten my life, but, it also has enriched my life. The old adage of ''You die your way and I will die mine!''.......