I would like. If I may. To take you on a strange and wonderful journey.

Our story starts with the turn of the year 2019. A chubby and unfit geek decided to change those facts. Now being in the southern hemisphere, and it being summer, getting into a shape that is less round and more bean pole is rather warm work. To get around this, the best time to go out and ‘get fit’ happens to be at about 10 pm, or so. Sometimes it may be earlier or later, but typically, when the hour of 10 strikes, our hero laces up his shoes and goes pavement pounding.

It started off so wonderfully. Nights spent jogging the block flat and hitting the daily step goal passed by effortlessly. For about a week, our hero was in his element. Alas, what is a story without some form of adversity. And when it comes to the lonely sport of jogging alone at night, the adversity is the very road itself. There simply isn’t anyone else out there at this time of night, doing something so stupid and running around the block.

The week passes and our hero, after doing so well, starts suffering shin splints. In case you have never heard of, or suffered from – shin splints is the muscle on the front of the leg getting stiff and causing pain when running, walking and even existing. I have added a link to the aforementioned ailment for your research purposes. But he does not give up. Oh no. Shin splints be damned. He will keep on running, even if his legs turn against him.

On one of these painful excursions, while our hero is trying hard to look cool with a powerful jog going on, but in reality is just hobbling rapidly down the street, he remembers some sage advice. “Run on the road for it is springier and spongier and all around the feet’s version of triple ply toilet paper.” So off he veers. Down a drive way and onto the deserted suburban roads, he dashes, still rapidly hobbling trying to force his legs to straighten and ignore the pain of shin splints.

Around the corner he goes, when unbeknownst to him, in the warm gutter lays a cat, masked perfectly by the shadow cast by street lamps. As he nears the now very nervous feline, it darts from cover, across the road and up a drive. Our hero, still hobbling along, like some Igor who has taken up cross fit, gives a loud start believing at this time of night, that he is alone. Some thing along the lines of “SuperHolyMosesPope,WhatTheHeck!” or something very similar, while also jumping about two feet into the air, the landing causing even more pain to run up his legs.

Upon landing, and giving another start of “BloodyHellThatWasSore” while also breathing heavily (from the jogging) as if a caricature some over enthusiastic anonomous caller, he hears a voice from the darkness calling out “WHAT!”

Oh dear.

Our hero, while jog-hobbling in the middle of the road, his glasses fogged up from his very own body heat and puffing, failed to notice an old lady on the other side of said road walking her extremely large and imposing dog. The call from the darkness, the sudden realization of not being alone, the pain in the shins, the foggy glasses and the inability to form coherent sentences give our hero yet another start, causing him to leap even further into the air. The landing adding a healthy dose of calf cramp to the mix.

Our hero, the trooper that he is, continues his jog-hobbling, but now jogging as if his shoelaces are tied together. Coming around the corner and into the main road, passing motorists were greeted by the site of an extremely white, chubby, Notre Dame bell ringer lurching forward as if his legs are too short, and his head to big.

Our hero made it home, without the authorities being notified, so great success.

As the shin splints have begun to heal, the knees then decided to get in on this action and cause an even more comical hobble-jog. Yet still, our hero wonders the neighborhood, the jogging Frankenstein’s monster – uttering tortured cries with each pavement pounded.

And that is where we are today. Our hero fully expects the knees to figure out their life just in time for quads and hamstrings to realize how much pain they really should be in.

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