Now...I used to do a lot more running than I do now. Jabba the Hutt probably did more running than I do now. But I used to at least get out there and move around a bit, so I figured that jogging would be the easiest thing to get back into. So...you gotta understand, when I say "used to," I'm talking about almost 15 years and 50,000 cigarettes ago. In the midst of my newfound exertion, I felt like I was going to simultaneously throw up and pass out.
Back in the day, I remember that distance running felt better when I had something rhythmic for my brain to chew on while I was moving -- a mantra. Something that I could repeat to myself over and over, something with meter and regularity so I could time it against my breathing and footfalls. I remember there were stages to this. At the beginning of a run, or during an easy stretch, the mantra could be on the longer side, since I had the brain cycles to spare and I wasn't too stressed. When I was ass-dragging tired, though, it would be reduced to just a few sharp syllables, as I couldn't think about anything except keeping my legs moving. Anyway...it wasn't too long into today's workout that I was reduced to my brain chanting "fall forward fall forward fall forward" as I plodded along -- because I figured at least that way I wouldn't aspirate on my own vomit and die.
The final indignity, though, actually came up after the jog was (mercifully) over. I was trying to convince my body that the worst was over, and while doing a little bit of cool-down stretching, I somehow managed to STRAIN MY FUCKING TESTICLES. I hate life.