Entropy and the machine

I run. I'm a runner. It was really the best thing I was good at. I was fast. At my best I could pass the second fastest guy in high school, giving 110%, and could about achieve neck and neck with the number 1 guy pushing that to 120%. Damn he was fast. Somehow I felt like I was pushing myself until all my parts would just come apart and explode, like a race car will, pushed to the limit. And he never seemed as tweaked as I felt, but at least I made him work for it.

These were sprints. Long runs I wasn't much good for. I've been told by my doctor, who works to undo all the muscle damage I have now, that people usually fall into two categories, ones where the nerves fire all the muscles at once, and those were the muscles have a 'slower rate of fire' and so don't tire out so fast. I guess the trade is speed for endurance. I would've been a good receiver in football I suppose, but I'm so skinny I'd probably have been broken in half before getting to college.

At any rate, there isn't much exciting to tell here, expect that fifteen years after high school, it's not the muscles that bitch all day, it's the joints. Finally... finally they have all gotten together, organized some kind of committee and unanimously voted to go on strike. And I have to tell you, this time I better give into their demands. My ankles are bad, they've actually been swelling, which can happen with damaged ankles, and mine are hurting from the last couple runs I've gone on. I hope it's not gout at any rate, which is the other possibility... My knees are complaining equally. The right hates stairs... the left hates turning corners.

Goddamn bitches, the lot... but like public transportation, the city that is me would grind to hault if I didn't give them every benefit they ask for.

Ice seems to shut them up at least, but I need to find out what else they need. Maybe some good old fashioned deep tissue, acupressure, or myotherapy is in order... bastards...

Thank God I have them around...