Monday, October 25, 2010

Run, Don't Walk

I haven't gone to a health club now for over two years. Besides the fact that it's a pain in the ass, at my age it doesn't take much to cause severe pain in my joints and pull every muscle in my body, so I've given it up. The one form of exercise that I still have available is walking. I walk the dog three times a day, and the shelter dogs twice a week. And since I followed my sisters advice and bought myself a nice pair of New Balance shoes at the New Balance store, my feet have been feeling much more like walking. (Thank you Peggy. Now what do you advise for the rest of my body?)

So it was on Saturday evening, that I asked Mark to drop me off at the CVS Pharmacy on his way out to a night of disco, drinks, and dishing at the local bars. I needed to pick up a prescription and some cat food.
"Sure, I'll drive you home too."
"No, I need the exercise. I'll walk home."
"But you'll get hit by a car."
"For chrissakes Mark, I've been walking for almost sixty years. I think I know what the hell I'm doing out there."
This went back and forth for a few more rounds before I convinced Mark that I really do know how to walk, and look both ways before I cross a street.

It's actually pleasant to go out for a walk by myself. No dogs stopping to pee, smell, and poop every three feet. No trying to either keep up with Mark when he's feeling good, or waiting for him to catch up when he's having one of his asthma attacks. All I have to worry about is me. So there I was strolling down the street with my little sack of goodies from CVS, and enjoying the cool breezes of a Florida autumn evening when it hit me. At first it was just a little rumble in my tummy as I passed the 7Eleven. As I crossed over the wide lawn of the church/gay resort, the rumble turned into a cat fight inside my gut. I picked up my pace. Half a block from home I started shooting jets of methane gas out my ass, and I could feel what seemed like an express freight train moving through my intestines. I broke out into a trot, and then a full run, fumbling for my keys so as to have them ready when I got to the door.

It was my lucky day. I made it to the toilet by three tenths of a second. No muss, no fuss, I had cheated the evil gods of inconvenient poop again. Also on the plus side of that, I managed to get some valuable exercise in as I ran down the street. Running with your ass cheeks clenched really builds those gluteal muscles. My walking for the evening wasn't over however. There were four cats staring at me, wondering when the hell they were going to be fed. It seems I'd have to schlep right back up to CVS for that cat food I forgot.


  1. OMG! And I thought it was going to be a nice "walking is good exercise" story.....but NOOOOOOO....another poop story! My goodness, you really ARE an official old man!!

  2. Yup...another story with a pleasant beginning that ends in pooping. Only in Alan World. hehe

  3. hahahahahahahaha! Glad you made it home in time!!!!!!

  4. I guess fecal matters....
    This is a poopular subject....

  5. Who's the asshole that checked asshole?