about exercising.

i've never been a fan. p.e. was great because we never really had to exercise. all i remember is doing stretches ("can you touch your toes"), and then playing some useless sport that we would've played at recess anyway. the only time we had to physically "exert" ourselves was when it came to the presidential fitness challenge. then we were forced to see how many sit-ups, chin-ups, and how long it would take us to run a mile. the answer was usually zero, zero, and forever, since, you know, all we ever did was play indoor soccer with nerf balls, or else play with the big multi-colored parachute.

i played soccer. i don't know if i liked it or not. or if i was any good. i just did it because what else are third and fourth grade boys to do? mr. martin made us run like crazy. he would do this thing where we'd all run around the field in a single file, and then whenever he'd blow the whistle, the person at the front of the line had to run all the way around to get to the end of the line. it was the most work i've ever had to do, and i hated it. i'd purposefully show up late to soccer practice to avoid it, and when that didn't work, i would get nose bleeds. if i ever got too hot, or if i just crinkled my nose a certain way, it would be bleed. and then i would get to sit out. what a lazy SOB, huh?

when i got too tall, mr. martin made me play fullback. i hated fullback because i knew i'd never get a chance to score a goal. but on the plus side, it meant i got to lounge around by our goal and kick the ball as hard as i could. that's kind of the way i am. no work. just something explosive every now and then. when i kicked the ball the wrong way at a game once, mr. martin yelled "james! out!" and my mom interpreted it was though he was pulling me out of the game. in actuality, he meant to kick the ball out of bounds, but you know, my mom wasn't really into sports. she took me off the team to spite mr. martin, which pretty much ended my soccer career.

i didn't have to run much again until i got to high school. p.e. was a little more laborious, as mr. hastie would make us run at the beginning of every first period.

i didn't do anything until college. meagan decided she wanted to go running, so i thought, what the hell. let's see what kind of shape i'm in. the answer came when i started panting after my first lap around a baseball field, and kept repeating, "i think i'm gonna throw up." all i could envision was the chicken alfredo i had consumed for the past couple of weeks, and how i had always, always washed it down with a bottle of sierra mist. meagan pointed to her water bottle. "your body needs this. not sierra mist." i don't think i drank sierra mist again after that. but i still ate my chicken alfredo. it was just that good.

during my second year of americorps, i'd sometimes go to the gym. meagan and rachel would sometimes be allowed to bring a guest to the gym with them, so, being the opportunist that i am, i checked it out. turns out i like running at less than 4 mph, and usually to explosions in the sky's the earth is not a cold dead place. it's really a perfect soundtrack for running. just when you feel like you're too tired, and you want to give up, the loud shit happens.

i found out that another one of my S.I. classmates got married recently. i can't imagine getting married at 24. but people go to war and die at 17. that's even more fucked up.

i hate looking at myspace and seeing how everyone posts pictures from some party. or reading about where they work, the people they know, the music they listen to, the books they read. it's all just one giant advertisement. i used to have one. i still have a facebook, though i don't know why. i guess minimal cyber-interaction via posting on a wall is better than no interaction at all.

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