Running - Day one

As I write this I'm laying on the floor in my room, reminding myself to breathe in every few seconds. Breathing out isn't a problem. My lungs are squeezing themselves closed on their own power, either an asthmatic reaction I've had since a child or their way at getting back at me for the run I just finished. I wasn't seeing spots until I sat up to get my laptop, but now I'm having a little trouble telling if the color on my screen is off or if I've popped a blood vessel somewhere.

I'm not a runner. I get no endorphin rush from completing a few miles on the track. I get a headache and a cramp in my side. The only rush I feel is pain from what might be shin splints; I can't remember what those are like because I haven't run in years.

Wobbly doesn't exactly describe what my legs are right now. Walking up the two flights to my room was a lot like the scene from Ali where Ali is taking on Frazier. Ali thinks, "Hook's coming. Lean back, man. Move. Work legs." His legs don't move, and Frazier catches him with a hook that sends Ali to the mat. Like that, except I wasn't fighting Joe Frazier. I was climbing stairs. Still almost put me on the mat.

Earlier today I promised my dad I'd run a 5K with him on New Year's Eve, a run he's done every year by himself for as long as I can remember. I suppose I'm committed to it now. I would say that I can say goodbye to drinking on New Year's, but judging from today I might need a drink to get me through it.

And so it starts.