Alright, let’s get this shit going. Run #4 in my first week back. 3 miles today. I should probably stretch. I think I read somewhere recently that stretching doesn’t do much for you. I’ll stretch anyhow, just in case. Gotta at least do the calves. They’ll get tight…good enough. Arm circle, arm circle, shake out each leg, some Rodney Dangerfield armpit farts on each side. Now we’re ready. Let’s go.

Wait…first I have to make sure my watch is syncing up to the GPS so I can track how slow I’m running. OK…it’s not working again. Windsor, NY is apparently hidden from satellite coverage. Stopwatch it is. Bright red ear buds are in, iPhone strapped to my arm, my homemade workout playlist, “Mike Tyson’s Punchout” is queued up and ready to go and…we’re off.

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I already hate this. Why did I get up at 5:15AM to fucking run? Why can’t I just stay slightly overweight and pudgy? This blows. Everything about this sucks ass. The only good part about this right now is the music, “What Do I Get” by The Buzzcocks. Who came up with the name Buzzcocks? Was it supposed to sound similar to The Sex Pistols? They came out around the same time, so maybe. “Buzzcock, Buzzcock, Buzzcock”, it’s fun to say.

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I’m tired and I’m not even a mile in. I’ve barely even had any change in elevation, yet I’m already exhausted. Jesus Christ, am I out of shape. My legs feel like they’re 200 lbs. a piece. It feels like I’m swimming in the ocean with clothes on. I know the feeling. Swimming lessons at Asharoken Beach in Northport, NY on the Long Island Sound. They beat the shit out of us. One year, they took us out on a rowboat a half-mile off shore. We were fully clothed and the instructors dumped the boat and made us swim laps with our clothes on. Then they had us take off our clothes while treading water and swim to shore. I was 11. The mental wounds still haven’t healed. I couldn’t tread water and take my clothes off at the same time. Instead, I let myself sink underwater so I could relax and take off my stupid fucking button-down flannel shirt and stupid fucking corduroys and sissy shoes. I faked drowning and death, all in an effort to learn how to swim. If nothing else, I learned how to improvise. But right now, my legs feel like that swim. Heavy.

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Breathe…breathe…about a mile in now and I’m starting to settle down and get comfortable. Jesus, the damn manure smell is gonna make me puke, though. I pick the time to run that coincides with the time to spread shit on farm land. Holy shit, that’s awful. Who is the moron that figured out if you spread a piece of shit on vegetation, it actually grows quicker? Food, one of our most basic needs, relies on shit to grow. Would human shit work? I’ve never tried it. If I took a shit in our herb garden, would our dill, rosemary, and chives grow quicker and fuller? Hmm…ooo, “Dirt Off Your Shoulder” by Jay-Z. Nice.

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Why is the second mile turning into more of a bitch than the first mile. It’s no different, terrain-wise. It’s basically flat, but suddenly, I want to quit. I can quit. I’m over a mile into this and that’s pretty good. My time isn’t fast because I’m out of shape and haven’t run in a while, but I still need to work on building up my endurance. So, yeah, I can quit right now and I’d be fine. I’ll just walk back home from here. Maybe I’ll jog a bit on the way, but I’m good.

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Hold on, though. Let me just go a bit further. Get to the halfway point and let’s see. Come on now. Keep going. I’m doing this for a reason. I can’t fucking quit now. Stop being a pussy. I used to run five times longer than this all the time. No way I’m stopping. I’m not stopping. I’ll fucking run-shuffle all the way home, but I ain’t stopping. Besides, “You Got It” by Mudhoney just came on and there’s no way I’ll ever give up on this song. Let’s do it.

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Alright, we’re over halfway through this bitch. First big hill, here it comes. No big deal. Don’t psyche yourself out, moron. That’s it, it’s not too long, just keep pumping…keep pumping. I see the top. Get there. And…breathe. OK, almost all downhill for about a mile before the big finish. I finally feel halfway decent. Why does it always take 2 miles before I feel like everything’s going to be ok? Why can’t that happen about a half-mile in? I hate that. No, really, I hate that. I always want to quit at some point in the first 2 miles every time I run, but then it levels off. Guess I need to keep running. How about we concentrate on finishing this one first. Time for “Waiting Room” by Fugazi and time to kick it into cruise control for a few minutes.

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This feels a little better now. Let gravity work for a bit. I’m not pushing it too hard, but I can feel the ol’ legs getting lubed up now. I think they want to pick up the pace. Let’s be cool. Let’s be little Fonzies and be cool. Correctamundo. I can see where it flattens out right before the last turn. Still feeling alright. Now, for the final quarter-mile. The first half of it is flat as a board, but the second half is a long, gradual hill that ends exactly at my driveway. It’s painful. I can almost feel it now. It doesn’t look like much when I’m driving it, but it burns like a bitch when I’m finishing a 3-mile run on it. Stay focused, almost done. Remember, no quitting. No matter what, finish the run. Finish it. Here we go, I can see where it starts. Ready? Wait…what’s this? “Karma Chameleon” by Culture Club? What the fuck? How did this get on my “Mike Tyson’s Punchout” playlist? This should be on my wife’s cheesy 80’s playlist called “Billy Joel Is, In Fact, Quite Sexy”. Note to self: remove this goddamn song from “Mike Tyson’s Punchout”. Concentrate…now…go.

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My God. I can’t breathe.

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Am I even making progress? It looks like the driveway is moving further away.

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Holy shit. This is taking forever.

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Push. Push. Don’t stop. You’ll be fucking pissed at yourself all day if you stop now. Don’t do it. Keep going.

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Come on…Come on…yes…Sweet Jesus, that’s brutal…I need water now. And I need Boy George to stop singing. Stop the watch. Run time? Ehhh, needs a lot of work, but don’t get discouraged.

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That wasn’t so bad. Maybe if I keep doing this, I’ll feel better. Maybe I’ll lose some of that weight I’ve been too goddamn lazy to get rid of. Maybe I’ll get in better shape for the first time in a while. Maybe. We’ll see.