"Up in the mornin' with the risin' sun... Gonna run all day 'till the runnin's done!" --- Military cadence.
"Crap" --- Sgt. Murphy
I never really was a huge fan of running, growing up. If it was part of sports like football or soccer, that's cool and all, but running for running's sake? Come on.
Most bewildering of all to me are the televised marathons.
FRANK: Here we go, Bob, M'Bukoo Wa*click*shnmba from some country you never heard of takes the early lead, followed closely by about 2000 other skinny dudes!
BOB: Yup.
FRANK: Pace looks to be about flat-out haulin' ass, and the crowd is gradually thining out. Hey Bob, are those dudes carrying spears?
BOB: Yup.
- one hour later -
FRANK: Still running....
BOB: Yup.
- one hour later -
ME: *snore*
But they're still running...
Now, I was a fairly athletic kid growing up, and running around for long periods of time never really bothered me, too much. The Corps magnified my abilities unbelievably, when it came to running. Still, when running in formation, I'd stave of boredom by running around, herding stragglers, doing the occasional road guard, and whatnot. It's not that I hated running, but I'd much rather do it to some music I liked, or at my own pace, on my own route. When I would run on my own, I'd usually get bored after about 30-45 minutes or so and wind up going to the gym or something.
Those were the days...
The Marine Corps Physical Fitness Test includes, among other things, a run (shocker, I know). My best time, right after boot camp, was 20:00 min. A few years after boot, my time was more into the *cough*, say 22 min range. Not terrible, but not out of this world great, either. It'd've (yeah, that's a word) been better if I had seriously worked at it, but after all's said and done, it's running. *bleugh*
Oh, the distance? Three miles.
Seriously, folks, that's nuthin'. Ask about any Marine out there, and they'll be able to rattle off about half a dozen basta... er... motivators that get pissed (and not Irish-ly) if they come in over 17 minutes.
Over.
Seriously, for three. friggin'. miles.
I remember... Panama, I think it was, going to the gym to catch a work out. Humidity was about 150%, and the temp was a lovely cool 95 degrees. Yeah, I was about motivated. Anyways, I enter the gym to be greeted by the sounds of what sounded like a raging dying-moose orgy, clanging weights, and some sort of noise blaring from the speakers. Glancing around to see who I knew there, I noticed one of the 'rabbits' from my platoon. Motor-scooter was on the treadmill, and he was going at pretty much a dead-sprint. One of those guys who ran, every day, sometimes twice... for fun. Erk.
I roam around the gym, trying to find some weights that don't look like they are too disgusting to work out with and a bench that doesn't squish when you lay on it. Failing at that, I head over to the machines. It's wasn't a particularly memorable work-out, at least on my part. I threw some weight around, tried to ignore the screamers, and just did my thing. What did make it kinda interesting was when the aforementioned rabbit was still on the treadmill, pumping out his run... about 25 minutes later.
Keep in mind, he was moving like his ass was on fire.
I glanced over there in time to see him turn an interesting shade of... something, hit the emergency stop on the treadmill, hustle to the door, and up-chuck the mornings 'food', for distance.
Laughing on the inside, I hippity-hopped over, and inquired if he needed a hand. He raised his own hand in a 'hold on a sec' gesture, finished his impromptu abdominal workout in the trash can, and slowly stood up. He brushed some sweat from his forehead, grinned, and said he was fine. I opined as how usually whenever someone tosses their biscuits... gravy, eggs, bacon and about everything else, they're not all that great. He wheezed and explained that for personal training, he ran his ass off until he felt queasy, but usually he stopped before he actually upchucked.
And the voices in my head call me crazy...
"Crap" --- Sgt. Murphy
I never really was a huge fan of running, growing up. If it was part of sports like football or soccer, that's cool and all, but running for running's sake? Come on.
Most bewildering of all to me are the televised marathons.
FRANK: Here we go, Bob, M'Bukoo Wa*click*shnmba from some country you never heard of takes the early lead, followed closely by about 2000 other skinny dudes!
BOB: Yup.
FRANK: Pace looks to be about flat-out haulin' ass, and the crowd is gradually thining out. Hey Bob, are those dudes carrying spears?
BOB: Yup.
- one hour later -
FRANK: Still running....
BOB: Yup.
- one hour later -
ME: *snore*
But they're still running...
Now, I was a fairly athletic kid growing up, and running around for long periods of time never really bothered me, too much. The Corps magnified my abilities unbelievably, when it came to running. Still, when running in formation, I'd stave of boredom by running around, herding stragglers, doing the occasional road guard, and whatnot. It's not that I hated running, but I'd much rather do it to some music I liked, or at my own pace, on my own route. When I would run on my own, I'd usually get bored after about 30-45 minutes or so and wind up going to the gym or something.
Those were the days...
The Marine Corps Physical Fitness Test includes, among other things, a run (shocker, I know). My best time, right after boot camp, was 20:00 min. A few years after boot, my time was more into the *cough*, say 22 min range. Not terrible, but not out of this world great, either. It'd've (yeah, that's a word) been better if I had seriously worked at it, but after all's said and done, it's running. *bleugh*
Oh, the distance? Three miles.
Seriously, folks, that's nuthin'. Ask about any Marine out there, and they'll be able to rattle off about half a dozen basta... er... motivators that get pissed (and not Irish-ly) if they come in over 17 minutes.
Over.
Seriously, for three. friggin'. miles.
I remember... Panama, I think it was, going to the gym to catch a work out. Humidity was about 150%, and the temp was a lovely cool 95 degrees. Yeah, I was about motivated. Anyways, I enter the gym to be greeted by the sounds of what sounded like a raging dying-moose orgy, clanging weights, and some sort of noise blaring from the speakers. Glancing around to see who I knew there, I noticed one of the 'rabbits' from my platoon. Motor-scooter was on the treadmill, and he was going at pretty much a dead-sprint. One of those guys who ran, every day, sometimes twice... for fun. Erk.
I roam around the gym, trying to find some weights that don't look like they are too disgusting to work out with and a bench that doesn't squish when you lay on it. Failing at that, I head over to the machines. It's wasn't a particularly memorable work-out, at least on my part. I threw some weight around, tried to ignore the screamers, and just did my thing. What did make it kinda interesting was when the aforementioned rabbit was still on the treadmill, pumping out his run... about 25 minutes later.
Keep in mind, he was moving like his ass was on fire.
I glanced over there in time to see him turn an interesting shade of... something, hit the emergency stop on the treadmill, hustle to the door, and up-chuck the mornings 'food', for distance.
Laughing on the inside, I hippity-hopped over, and inquired if he needed a hand. He raised his own hand in a 'hold on a sec' gesture, finished his impromptu abdominal workout in the trash can, and slowly stood up. He brushed some sweat from his forehead, grinned, and said he was fine. I opined as how usually whenever someone tosses their biscuits... gravy, eggs, bacon and about everything else, they're not all that great. He wheezed and explained that for personal training, he ran his ass off until he felt queasy, but usually he stopped before he actually upchucked.
And the voices in my head call me crazy...
9 comments:
I.will.not.run. Unless a lion is after me. Even then, I hope to be armed better than he and not have to.
The only running I would ever do as a kid was when they'd bring out the hurdles in PE. Being the longest-legged kid in class and being a ballerina, I could clear the tall hurdles without much breaking a sweat. I only did it to piss the boys off or impress them. ;)
I cannot imagine running until I blew chunks though. Can't see where that would impress much of anyone.
And Murphy, the voices in *my* head call you crazy too...but only in the good way.
I'm with you on the running thing, Murph. I only ever ran to stay in good enough shape to pass a PT test. These days I bike, since my knees won't take the running. That's what I get for running with extra weight.
I remember those assholes... The ones I hated were the ones that RAN to the PT test, cut a low number then RAN back to the gym!
Hell, the next day I looked like I had a half a basketball stuffed around my knee.
Snigs, I kinda thought you WERE one of the voices in my head.
captain - don't suppose buying a motorcycle would qualify as cardio for me?
old nfo - *coughblanketpartycough*
don't suppose buying a motorcycle would qualify as cardio for me?
Only if it has a *really* bad kickstarter...
I've got two very good reasons not to run.
I do love lifting weights, though, & back in the day when I had a gym membership I was often the only female in the free weights. Can't count the number of times I had to leave so I wouldn't hurt myself laughing at the grunters.
My favorite was the guy who literally barked. Like a damn Chihuahua. Of course, he was also leaning way back and swinging his barbell around just as fast as he could. Who needs form when you've got momentum?
(See, I could lift til I puked, but run?)
I roam around the gym, trying to find some weights that don't look like they are too disgusting to work out with and a bench that doesn't squish when you lay on it. Failing at that, I head over to the machines. It's wasn't a particularly memorable work-out, at least on my part. I threw some weight around, tried to ignore the screamers, and just did my thing. What did make it kinda interesting was when the aforementioned rabbit was still on the treadmill, pumping out his run... about 25 minutes later.
captain - Ha!
Sabra - You mentioned something about two good reasons, but I's like to actually see what you were talk-... hold on, getting a memo... Oh. OOOOHHhhhh. Whoopsey.
Now lifting 'till you puke, that's a special type of hell. For me, that type is nowadays marked by the omnious sign of 20lbs, whatever that means...
rene - Excellent writing!
Thank youu for writing this
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