So. Today I walk-un'd 4 miles. It sucked. It was better than the 3 mile walk-n'd (much more walk then run there), but it was running...so it sucked.
My wife, God bless her, was great - she had to book it after 3 miles in order to actually break a sweat (and to be on time to volunteer @ our son's class). So, running with 1.3 lungs, a month after a thoracotomy is very similar to placing a piece of saran wrap over your mouth and nose and running - I imagine - as I have never run with a piece of saran wrap over my mouth and nose. It also provides a very nice feeling of - holy crap I think the right side of my chest is going to fall onto the ground - or - please stop kicking me in the chest with your high heels on you insensitive butt-knuckle.
Apparently we only use 10% of our lung capacity - this has not been validated, in fact I think the woman who said this is full of sh*t, and that she may only use 10% of her lung capacity but that's because she weighs 11 lbs. and only eats 10% of her meals. If, however, this is true - then I have a serious problem - as I apparently require 100%. In fact, I may need 110%, that may be why I have always abhorred running.
What I can say for certain, is that my run goes a lot like this;
O.k., let's start our very casual, almost geriatric in nature, jog. 5ft...10ft...25ft (now able to hear my breathing if running next to me)...40ft (now if you are within 100 yards you can here my breathing and may wonder if a dying moose is in the vicinity)...65ft (I am now just about ready to panic, not quite there, but am definitely trying to catch my breath unsuccessfully)...75ft...STOP! I am unable to catch my breath, am certain I am drowning somehow out of water, and am telling myself quietly "...it's all in your head, you have plenty of O2, Missy Y. said so and she's a lady that does something or other with people or not, maybe alone...", if it lasts too long I may skip like a little girl and let out a small yelp - also like a little girl - in order to stop myself from diving head first into a fully developed panic attack. I, of course, eventually catch my breath (it takes longer than I would like it to) and the panic fades, until, once again I'm ready to start running (jog) again, and start the process over (and over, and over)
This goes on for...well 4 miles today. If I were my wife I would have hit me with a hammer. What an annoying ass. Its like jogging with grandpa, carrying his colostomy bag and dragging his mobile ventilator behind him while his mechanical larynx voice box is stuck on high making him sound like a dying cow on the national geographic.
But, we both stuck it out. Next is 5 miles. I hoping I accidentally break my spine while sleeping...or maybe not, it'd be a great thing to make it to Disney and do more running than walking a marathon.
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