Falling Short

It's not as easy as it looks. I tried it. Man it's tough. It's even tougher to do if you want to impress your neighbors. I don't need to do that. They know me better. Still, I didn't try it on purpose, it was an accident really. I swear, an accident. That didn't stop me from doing it though, and looking like an idiot in the process. There I was, half way down the block with my shorts bunched around my knees trying to finish my jog.

It was one of those old western movies. You know, the bad guy rides into town, grinding down on a Tipperillo. All the women folk swoop into the streets, drawing their chicks behind locked doors of safety. Bad guy doesn't notice, he's too busy squinting; releasing all the bad-guy cool-menace into the air. He has a stink, it's called "essence of fear."

EEEK!

I have a stink too, but nobody was close enough to notice. This was screaming kids, flying moms, and shuttered blinds. Nobody was even willing to peep out a window. I wasn't squinting though. Blue shorts binding my knees as my hands shot out to keep balance. There was no confusion; I knew I wasn't cool.

A tumbleweed rolled across the sidewalk and a car turned onto the street, then U-turned back the way it came. He never looked back. Sometimes you just know when things are too bad to stay.

I'm finding this whole moment alive with strange sensations. Somewhere between my upper flush cheeks and the cool breeze furling my underwear and chilling my nether cheeks. is a warm glow in my chest.

"I'm your huckleberry."

My shorts haven't fallen down a long time. There's always been enough ballast in my gut to hold them up. Now, this pair drops with every step. I need to do something about that. Wow, I'm getting thinner. Please note the "er" at the end of the word. I'm still a far cry from "thin," but I am thin enough that my shorts drop on a strong wind. Note to self: do not wear these shorts on a date.

The streets are empty and nobody's rushed out to challenge me. I am the most naked guy showing his parts in these here parts. Ok, no I'm not showing my parts, not unless you're standing just right when the breeze swishes my underwear…

"My Eyes!"

Still, It's easy to revel in the feeling. I haven't been able to keep a regular workout schedule since the beginning of the year. There's always something interfering. Flat tires, snickering gophers, Divorcing Unwives. it's all just hurdles on my run. I'm not a hurdler, I'm a distance runner. We like things steady and even. Why isn't life like that?

But as I've said so many times before, it's all about building a routine. My routine has included excuses to not workout. I'm gaining endurance. The last few weeks I've switched it up: I've worked-out to spite my best interests.

It's apparently helped too. It's not a complete victory, says the guy with the victory flag dangling over his calves, but it's a step. It's something to inspire me to take the next step. It's something to keep me moving.

It's something that says I should probably pull up my shorts up before I mosey along to the next hurdle.