Tonight I did something that I hadn't done in quite some time - I went out running. Thats right folks, I strapped on a pair of high quality, ten-year-old, beat-up running shoes and hit the street. I don't know how far I ran, I'm not fucking odometer, but it felt like a fucking marathon.

Now, I am a fan of the whole fitness thing, seeing as how it apparently prevents the whole "dying young" thing, which is not really on my agenda. I would much prefer to live to be a grumpy old man -- old age is great like that, you can be as grumpy as you want, and everyone just has to take it. In fact, many will love you for it.

My run reminded me of one major problem. You see, I used to run pretty regularly before, and tonight's run reminded me of why I stopped doing it. Running is fucking hard. All of the out-of-breathedness, and the tiredness, as well as the sweating and the wanting-to-collapse, really don't lead to a very pleasurable experience. Although, on the plus side, I didn't injure anything, so I guess I came out on top.

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