by Robert Lopresti
“What is the cause of this uncharacteristic gloom?” you may well ask. “How have you been cast down to this wretched state, Rob, dear friend? What, to coin a phrase, is harshing your mellow?”
I shall elucidate. Yesterday I pulled a muscle in my leg. It was my own fault, I admit it. I engaged in a dangerous and reckless activity. Exercise.
(Let this be a warning to all the impressionable youth out there. Don’t be led astray by peer pressure! Sure, it may look tempting when the “cool kids” are out there jogging and lifting weights, but don’t fall into the trap. Do you really want to end up a muscle-bound health freak, surviving way past the deaths of most of your friends, not to mention the Social Security system?)
Where was I? Oh yes. My leg hurts. But that’s not all. My injury is playing holy havoc with my lunch schedule.
At the advice of yet another health nut I recently started spending half of each lunch hour walking while devouring my finger food lunch. At first, I resented the idea, because I normally spent this interval reading, and reading, as I am sure most of you out there in writer-blog land will understand, is very important to me.
I did find a solution: audio books. I went to a department store and tried to find something as low tech as a portable CD player hidden among the grains of rice that can hold Bach’s complete works, and the cell phones that guess your weight to the last kilogram.
I did find the the CD players,, hanging out rather sheepishly next to a single, sad, cassette tape player. Remember them?
Moonlight Mile is my favorite book to read while I am walking and eating. –Robert Lopresti, author of stuff
So, my gimpy leg has shot that half of my lunch hour to hell. The second half of this festive event is normally spent writing, either a file I brought from home on a flash drive, or editing a story I have already printed out.
Alas, this morning, in my rush to transfer all my worldly goods from my bike panier to my backpack, preparatory to catching a bus to work, I managed to leave both my paper file and flashdrive at home, where they are no doubt entertaining the cats no end. So I can neither walk nor write.
Have I mentioned that my leg hurts? If you have never heard one of your own muscles tearing, let me assure you that it is a memorable experience.
This may explain why, lacking the ability to write something useful, I chose instead to impose this rant on you. Fortunately it is now over.
And remember, if you must exercise, please take the elementary precaution of first removing your legs.