Those who know me long enough (or those who have faithfully read my blog) would know that I absolutely HATE running. HATE it! HATE it!!! If there was a big basket full of Liz Clairborne handbags marked "70% discount" about 200 metres in front of me I'd idly walk by and let the rest of ladies run helter skelter towards it. When I finally get there I'll just pry the handbag I've been eyeing off someone's hands.
Push comes to shove, I'll just punch her in the face. Kidding. Not. Kidding. Seriously.
But would I run? Nope, no sir I will not. I do not like to run. But most 'voices of authority' have said that you are not an athlete if you do not sprint. Sigh. Seriously? Must I? Must I really sprint? I can withstand quite a number of things but going out in the sun to sprint is really pushing it.
Tell me to deadlift, squuat, push, pull, press, punch, kick, spit... I'd be happy to do your bidding. But I will NOT sprint, kind sir. I insist.
Aren't there other means to develop athleticism? What about kickboxing? Or just boxing? I could hang up a punching back somewhere in my humble home and punch the night away. Sigh... I guess I may well have to start sprinting. But it has to be at night. I'll just sprint along the length of the apartment. I hate it. But I will have to try it. I will let you know if I've tried it.
Funny. I used to be decent at 100 metre sprints in high school. Or so I'd like to think.