Jogging

So I’ve recently take up jogging.

All right, I’ve only actually jogged twice. Once with the War Department and the second time with disastrous results on the deer lease.

That first time was after the War Department suggested I start getting some exercise beyond walking from the car to the house and back again.

I felt that was enough to get my heart rate up twice a day, but I finally agreed to try and get into some semblance of good shape.

Both grown daughters were looking for entertainment that day, so we went for a two-mile walk in the neighborhood.

I didn’t know all five grandkids were going to join us.

The five-year old raced ahead. “Da, suck in your stomach and catch me.”

“It already is, and that’ll never happen. You come back and catch me.”

The thirteen-year-old granddaughter wiped her permanent scowl away for a few minutes. “Da has Dunlop disease, your belly has dun lopped over your belt!”

Hysterical giggles from everyone.

That torturous attempt was filled with burning muscles, aching knees and the shortness of breath coming from tremendous exertion as the body personal burned those packed-on calories. I was light-headed, breathing hard. Motes and flashes swam in front of my eyes.

Then I reached the sidewalk. For the remainder of the two miles, it was really bad, especially when I broke into a thirty yard jog.

That was enough for one day.

My second attempt was on the deer lease when the Hunting Club membership and I were on a spring turkey hunting expedition.

Just before lunchtime on the day we arrived, I decided to take a quick jog, trying to establish a routine. The boys were all scattered throughout the countryside, scouting for turkey sign and tidying up the tower stands to close them down for the summer, so I had a few minutes to torture myself.

I didn’t have running shoes, and for that matter, jogging clothes, so I simply left the trailer in full camouflage and trotted down the two-track dirt road that winds through the lease.

The first hundred yards were torture. I went back and put on my hiking boots instead of doing it barefoot. From there on out it wasn’t bad and I jogged to the top a small rise and ran a little faster along the level ground.

Ah, exercise. It wasn’t that bad, and I was on the road to health and a clear complexion.

Not breathing hard at all, I picked up a little speed just to see how it felt. I was pounding along past a grove of shin oaks when I suddenly heard footsteps rushing up behind me.

Paranoia stepped in.

Something was after me!!!

Primal fear. I shifted into a sprint but didn’t look back. I’ve seen enough of those scary movies where those being pursued looks back over their shoulder to see if the werewolf is gaining on them.

Then they fall, sprain an ankle, and have to scream until the commercial.

The next thing I knew, Doc passed me at a dead run. He looked fearfully over his shoulder. “Is it catching us!!!???”

I knew it. Something was after us.

I ran faster. “I don’t know! But don’t look back! If we come to a straight street and there’s a car behind us, run faster instead of doing the sensible thing and veer off to the side.”

I took the lead. We passed Wrong Willie who was standing beside his jeep with a fifty-pound sack of deer pellets over his shoulder. His eyes widened in horror and he joined our panicked retreat.

His sack of feed slowed him down some, but he kept up better than I would have expected.

The three of us rounded another curve and cut through a dense tangle of prickly-pear cactus. Screams of pain erupted from three breathless throats, and then another even more horrible scream came from behind us.

Jerry Wayne was suddenly raced up. “What is it!!!???”

He screamed again as we plowed through a second prickly-pear clump.

I leaped a large clump of cactus. “I don’t know, I’m afraid to look back!”

We shouted in unison. “Run!”

Four sets of eyes bugged out in terror, and high blood pressure.

We were in luck. Jerry Wayne faded back. Everyone knows that when a werewolf is chasing you all that’s necessary is to outrun the slowest member of the group.

A herd of cattle joined us. Now it was a real stampede. They pounded along, throwing up dust and bawling right along with us. It looked like a marathon composed mostly of beings who can lick their noses.

I was running out of breath, but the werewolf, for that is the only thing that could keep pace with us, was surely catching up.

We rounded the corner to the trailer and in a mad last-ditch effort, charged for the door, hitting it just before the cattle slid to a stop behind us. Tumbleweeds caught in the slipstream piled against the trailer along with stunned bunnies, quail, and assorted litter.

We peeked outside and saw nothing but a bunch of confused animals.

“I don’t see anything out there.” Doc finally caught his breath. “What was chasing you?”

“I don’t know.” My heart slowed. “I was just jogging and you passed me at a dead run like a mountain lion was after us.”

Everyone glared at me. Four elderly men sucked air, all hoping we wouldn’t have a heart attack.

“Nothing was chasing me,” Doc said.

Willie sighed. “I ran because y’all were running. You weren’t trying to get away from something?”

“Just trying to get away from this belly.” Shaking my head, I collapsed on the nearest cooler, after liberating a cold beer. “I wasn’t running. I was jogging.”

Jerry Wayne took his own pulse. “So nothing was after us at all. It was mass hysteria panic.”

“Well.” I considered the statement and chose to be silent.

Even the animals outside were angry with me, so I passed out beverages to everyone and resigned myself to staying out of shape.

I’m thinking of taking up Power Yoga now, though.