In a fit of brilliance, I decided that instead of going to the gym the other day I would run up and down the stairs in my building for exercise, which lasted about three minutes until I was dizzy and nauseated and my left arm was numb.
On top of that, I woke up yesterday with a torn ACL in my calf and I now I can’t go up or down stairs at all. Okay, it may not be a torn ACL, because A) I don’t really know what an ACL is, and B) I don’t think they are in your calf, but it sounds cooler than saying I pulled a calf muscle. Especially since I pulled it going up and down stairs. Instead I’m going to say I hurt it hiking up Tuckerman’s Notch (or whatever it is). I probably need Dr. Morgan to staple the muscle to my tibia so I can make it in to work tomorrow, because it’s Game 6 and the Yankees are up 3 games to 2… wait that isn’t me. But the crawl is always hungry.
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I get chest pains just thinking about hiking. First of all, “hiking” is a misnomer. “Hiking” sounds like, “we’re just walking along, enjoying nature and the birds and the squirrels.” When, in fact, “hiking” is “climbing a big fucking mountain.” Secondly, if I wanted to be Jon Krakauer I would start by leaving my apartment once in while, or maybe I would order Vietnamese food for dinner instead of Thai. I don’t need to be tricked into climbing Mt. Everest to prove my manhood.
Speaking of proving one’s manhood, two days in a row I went for a walk along the river, and two days in a row there were men in speedos hanging out in Riverside Park. In case there was any confusion, Riverside Park is not South Beach!! Keep ‘em covered up. Thank you.
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