Spencer's Rut Assignment - Jogging

Every time I see a jogger bobbing down the road I always think to myself, "What the heck?" I've never understood why anyone would want to expend their energy and oxygen to engage in such a strange activity. Perhaps it's because I've never been able to do it myself without getting shin splints or wheezing fits. Yeah, that'd do it.

You see, I've been burdened by oddly shaped feet for most of my life. I've been flat-footed and duck-footed and all-sorts-of-wrong footed. This has prevented me from enjoying activities like running, jumping, hiking, and, of course, jogging. Luckily, I was able to get several surgeries in the last 18 months and my feet are on their way toward normal.

So, I decided it was time to become a (gulp) jogger. I strapped on my seldom-used tennis shoes and anything I could find in my house resembling exercise equipment (a sweatshirt?). Once I was fitted for my adventure, I had my wife drop me a mile from our house, so I couldn't chicken out and only do a lap around the block. As her car drove away, leaving me on that lonely street corner, I knew I had made a terrible mistake.

I took off like something that takes off in a similar fashion to an overweight first-time jogger. The breeze blew against my face as my pace quickened. For that moment, I felt like I could do anything. Then I got to the end of the block.

My heart was racing and I could feel the wheezing coming on. Darn exercise-induced asthma! My skin started to itch as the sweat pushed its way to the surface of my skin. How much farther did I have to go? I turned around. I could still see the street corner where I had started. Crap.

I decided to push through it. I kept going, trying to keep my breathing steady and my soul from spiraling into a crippling despair. I stared forward, eyes always on the next goal: a fencepost, a stop sign, a crack in the sidewalk. I was going to make it.

It wasn't long before I saw a beautiful sight. It was the emu. Oh the glorious emu. The emu that signaled that I only had a couple more blocks to go. I pushed through, running past the church parking lot and turning onto my street. The last few yards were torture as I hobbled toward the finish, hand outstretched, trembling.

Minutes later, I was collapsed on the couch, pulse whipping around in my temples like that time Christ whipped around in his. I had done it. I was a jogger. When I finally caught my breath I proclaimed a decision I had made right then and there. "There's no way I'm ever doing this again." And with that, I grabbed the TV remote . . .