I’m standing on a train, riding to work on a Friday as the clouds look like a urine pack ready to explode. There’s an advertisement in front of me for some local running event. They’re trying to get people to sign up and run. I can’t think of anything more horrifying.

Running and I do not mix well. I was a fat kid which meant I had to pay off the gym teachers (usually in baseball cards or fancy plastic whistles) to let me skip track days. Fat people aren’t built to run. We can perform well in power sports, but not speed ones.

I’m all for donating to charity (until someone asks me) so I appreciate and understanding fundraising races. A fun fact about fundraising races: they’re the only ones who don’t start war over religion. Their wars are fought over who cares more about a specific disease that affects them personally.

Jenny and I did recently go running because we’ve lost sight of our limitations. Our bodies barely held up and for the next week my quadriceps were on fire. I’d say our weakening calves suffered the most. In fact, it’s probably time someone ran a race in our honor.

I don’t expect Jenny and I to go running again anytime soon. I’m hoping medical technology soon makes robot-legs more readily available anyway.