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Run for your life!

by Scott McNutt

All my friends have that drive to exercise. It's usually about 3.4 miles. Many times I have asked one, "So, what are you doing today?" and the response is, "Oh, I thought I'd drive over to the gym and run some laps." When I hear this I must resist the urge to lean into my friend's face, so close that the spittle spewing from my mouth sprays him as I scream, "DRIVE to run? Drive to RUN! See those stubby things sticking out at an angle from your ankles? Those are FEET! Use them! Move them! Run! Run RIGHT NOW!"

Many of my friends have taken my advice to heart and changed their behavior. Which is to say they run away from me. And those who still hang around keep a towel handy, just in case.

Readers brave enough to face my spittle, possibly even some without towels, may want to ask, "OK, smart guy, how do you get your exercise?" Simple: I don't. But when I used to exercise, I did so efficiently, wherever I was. For instance, I always ran during my lunch break at work. That wasn't particularly effective, though—they always caught me and brought me back.

And like any other middle-class householder, I have devices at home to help me exercise. In fact, one whole room is reserved as the nesting area for one whole exercise machine. I keep the door to that room shut. And locked. And bolted. (With all its protruding thingamabobs and doohickeys, my exercise machine reminds me of the monster from the movie Alien that saw Sigourney Weaver in her underwear. I don't want my machine seeing me in mine and getting all excited.)

Oh, I do still partake of a few recreational sports. I play tennis. And yes, I admit, I drive to play tennis. But I have an excuse: You have to have a tennis court to play tennis, and I can't fit a tennis court into my house, because all my extra room is taken up by my Alien Exercise Machine.

I also walk around my neighborhood, whose sidewalks are crowded with gorgeous, stately, magnificently unique old houses. I adore those sidewalks. (I use to live in the suburbs. I'd forgotten that neighborhoods are sometimes allowed to have sidewalks.) The houses are nice, too. (I'd forgotten that some neighborhoods are allowed to have houses that look different from one another, too.)

And since I live close to downtown, I walk to it. Walking to downtown is excellent exercise, because there's always a beer at the end of it. And when downtown, I can indulge in my favorite sport: pool. It's my favorite because you can drink beer while engaging in it, and most likely not kill yourself during play. (Note that I said nothing about someone else killing you during the game.) This is the best recreational sort of activity: sports in which you can drink beer and most likely not kill yourself. Bowling fits into this category. Electronic darts, too. Some of my friends say softball also falls within this group, but I consider that too dangerous: If a line drive comes your way, and your reflexes are slowed, the ball could hit you, and then you might drop your beer. (Obviously, if they'd heeded me, the Kennedys never would have been drinking while playing football on snow skis. They probably spilled a lot of beer.)

So there are myriad ways to exercise without driving somewhere to do it. This is why I believe that the people who drive to exercise really aren't interested in exercise at all. I say this because, when I exercised, I did so in old, tattered shorts and T-shirts. But when I've been inside exercise emporiums, I notice that most patrons (especially the women) have skimpy, tight-fitting, $500 workout suits to sweat into. So I think it's all about fashion, about seeing and being seen. Which I have no problem with. In fact, if you gymnaughtiests (especially the women) want to be seen in your cute exercise things, there's room for you at the downtown YMCA. Just run on down. We can walk over to my place and have a beer afterward. My exercise machine will be excited.