This morning, we decided to run (or jog) to somehow expel at least some of the food we've eaten the last few days. Being the non-runner (or jogger), after 3-ish kilometers my hamstring began to ache. Yah, I think that was my hamstring.
"Hun, my leg hurts"
He looks back, "Where?"
I point to the back of my left leg.
"Oh, that's just normal," he simply states.
"What are you talking about?" I said. "Hurting is not normal. It's NOT hurting that's normal."
And he just keeps on jogging along.
On weekends, I usually switch on sloth-mode. Well, to be frank, if I had my way, I'd be on sloth-mode all-day every day. I have tried waking up at 4PM, staying in bed until 6PM watching TV, and waiting until the last bit of available natural light to fade to darkness before standing up to flick the light switch.
It's a totally different story with the husband. Firstly, he is a morning person. At 6AM, he is already alive (even earlier on weekends, which should be a crime). I could be awake, but not really functional. More of a walking zombie. Secondly, he cannot for the life of me, stand doing nothing. "Nothing" is not rest. "Nothing" is unproductive. "Nothing" is well... unacceptable. I really can't fathom having this kind of outlook in life. Just thinking of it just tires me.
I'm not sure if it comes with being athletic, this need to always be on the move. Perhaps it's some level of competitiveness, even if you're technically not competing with anyone. Well, aside from perhaps yourself.
Hmm. Wait, now that's a thought. In the pursuit of a psychoanalysis, perhaps it's that fire of a competition. Even if you're alone. You're competing against being caught doing nothing. Because with doing nothing, you lose. Losing, even if we do say it builds character, sucks. Who would want to suck? Being on the move therefore minimizes the instance of sucking. Yeah, I think that makes sense. I'm not sure if it's valid. But it makes sense.
*I actually made the typography wallpaper for Chips quite a while ago. It got me thinking to write a post about it. So, tadah. If you want a version for your desktop, just leave a comment with your email addie. Cheers!
We had beer in the ref left-over from a weekend dinner. One Friday night, Chips picks up a bottle. A few moments later, while I was washing the dishes, he motions for me to make way. "I just need to throw this," he says. And so he proceeds to draining a good amount of beer down the sink.
I don't really encounter a lot of guys (especially if they're from where I work) who'd throw away beer. Or not finish beer. Unless they've been caught when they're not supposed to be drinking beer. Or are passing out because of too much beer.
"I just needed to carbo-load. I'm running tomorrow."
It makes sense, I suppose. It is made out of wheat. It also beats him asking me to cook pasta.
On another note, congratulations to him for (using his term) "destroying" his 21k PR, clocking in at 01:50:13 at the Run United 2 race last November 20. Out of 1,100 runners he's actually number 54! WOOT in a major way. Thanks to photovendo for this pic:
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