As we ran yesterday, I attempted to shove Emily into a wall. Luckily for us both, I was not at my peak strength, and thus, it could best be described as a half-hearted and feeble push, the kind one expects from little old men or, perhaps, dead people.
Let’s back up.
Emily, being the more experienced exerciser, is the one who guides how the running is to go. Generally speaking, this is better for me, as I have no concept of what running well is. I used to run by running badly very quickly until I couldn’t do anything for upwards of half-an-hour. My reasoning was that if I ran faster, than I would be done sooner and then I could stop and not think about it for twenty-four hours.
After two weeks of this, I realized a far better method of running would be not to.
So now Emily decides how fast and how far and for how long and I trudge along behind her like a constantly wheezing and whinging bear as she darts on ahead. Being extremely stubborn and a sore loser, I refuse to stop and, since I can’t be made at myself for letting myself get this out of shape, I take it out on Emily. Thus, I try and push her into walls while scowling and wheezing.
Still, I’m better off having her help me. I wouldn’t be doing it at all otherwise. And, this way, at least I have someone to be mad at.
So there’s that.