In an effort to get in shape, or at least get into a shape that no longer resembles a pear, I have started exercising. This is a new situation for me. It’s not that I never got any exercise before, it’s just all of my former exercise was a result of physical labor jobs and my ongoing quest for fish and game. These two things never left me traditionally “fit” so to say but I was never the weakest or most out of shape person in a room.
Not so much anymore. My recent way of life has left me in a condition where walking to the door to pay the pizza guy winds me.
So I decided to strap the little baby on my back and start going for daily walks with my three year-old Demon Spawn. Just make it easy on myself I decided to let Demon Spawn set the pace.
This was a mistake.
Three year-old’s can go on forever.
That is until they can’t and they collapse in the middle of the trail/sidewalk/street screaming that they can’t go on and you have to carry them.
And then you carry them until your arms turn to jelly, put them down and they decide a game of tag is the next logical thing that should happen. And you’re it.
So now you have to chase a small child at a full run up a hill with another small child strapped to your back, not to tag him back because you don’t want to be it, but because you don’t want him falling in the lake/running into the street/attacking a stranger trying to have a pleasant non-being-attacked-by-a-rabid-three-year-old kind of day.
Then when you catch them they cry because they are tired and you’re mean and don’t love them and won’t carry them.
So you pick them up again.
LOOK A SQUIRREL! PUT ME DOWN! PUT ME DOWN! I CHASE THE SQUIRREL!
And then back to the running uphill.
I should be in great shape soon.