Back in March I came up with a way to motivate myself to exercise more and get in shape. Angie and I came up with some fitness goals involving weight, size, and endurance. We agreed on my 30th birthday as the deadline to meet these goals. The bet was if I failed I would take Angie to Disney World. If I won, I told her she would have to do some things she wouldn't normally do. She said no to that, so I decided to cross that bridge when and if I came to it.
So my training began. I loaded up my mp3 player with music from the Rocky soundtrack, and hit the streets. I started out with leisurely strolls around the neighborhood and Washington Park and even threw in some light jogging. I didn't concern myself with the weight goal just yet because I felt I could reach that in about eight to ten months with dedicated dieting.
As the weather got warmer I started hitting the gym. It was time to start my strength training anyway. I showed up at the gym with infrequent regularity. Good for a week, skip a week. Needless to say this hampered my progress, especially since that skip a week turned into skip two weeks, go one day, skip another week.
One day in August, after nearly a month of wallowing in my own fat, I decided to return to the gym with renewed vigor. That's when I got the shin splints. I didn't know they were the shin splints at the time, I just knew every step I took sent fiery agony from my foot up to my knee. It was my doctor who broke the news. The following is a dramatization of that fateful conversation:
Me: Give it to me straight, doc. I'm a man. I can take it.
Doctor Hendricks: (rolling his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other) You're too fat, fatty. When fatso's like you get on a tread and start running it creates too much stress on your fat legs. You have a case of the shin splints...the fat person version.
Me: Is it serious? Will I live?
DH: Oh, you'll live (under his breath) unless a heart attack gets ya. I recommend staying off that treadmill for six weeks, otherwise you could develop a stress fracture. And then you'll be on crutches, fatty. If you need to do some cardio, and - let's face it -you do, stick to a stationary bike. Preferably one that your grossly obese carcass won't break as soon as you sit on it. (Puts cigar out on his arm)
Doctor Hendricks: (rolling his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other) You're too fat, fatty. When fatso's like you get on a tread and start running it creates too much stress on your fat legs. You have a case of the shin splints...the fat person version.
Me: Is it serious? Will I live?
DH: Oh, you'll live (under his breath) unless a heart attack gets ya. I recommend staying off that treadmill for six weeks, otherwise you could develop a stress fracture. And then you'll be on crutches, fatty. If you need to do some cardio, and - let's face it -you do, stick to a stationary bike. Preferably one that your grossly obese carcass won't break as soon as you sit on it. (Puts cigar out on his arm)
So I tried the stationary bike a couple of times, and it was boring. Much more boring than the treadmill, which is the most boring thing in the universe. Feeling dejected and sorry for myself, I quit going to the gym all together.
Fast forward two months later to this past Saturday. I make my triumphant return to the gym. I hit that tread with reckless abandon, and feel great. I repeat the same thing on Sunday. I'm feeling so good I went back again tonight, Monday, and I lasted about ten minutes. The shin splints are back with a vengeance.
So here is the situation. I need to get on a treadmill, because I'm fat. But, since I'm fat, I shouldn't do the treadmill. The moral of the story? Fat. Not even once.
