My Crack

About a week ago, I came to an important, life-altering…actually, a life-revolutionizing (thank you Shift-F7) decision. Many of you know I’m a pretty avid runner. I generally try to get in 20-25 miles a week over 5 or 6 days. Some of you also know that through a combination of this amount of running, chicken legs that are barely bigger than my arms, and the fact that I’ve never done a squat in my life, I’ve developed the knee problems of a 70-something ex-marathon runner. Unfortunately, I’m only 27, and I haven’t ever run a marathon. Not even a half-marathon.

After cutting down on the length of my runs, sticking almost exclusively to the treadmill (as opposed to the corrosive pavement), undergoing some pretty half-ass PT sessions at the UCLA Health Center last fall, and incorporating some extra stretching and modest leg exercises into my workouts, my knee problems started to subside a little bit. At least enough for me to resume my running schedule. Good enough for me.

Fast forward to last Wednesday night’s Dodgers-Giants game. Already upset about arriving in the middle of the 5th inning and thus missing Barry Bonds’ first 2 at-bats, I started to notice a decent amount of pain in my right knee, sitting in those cramped little seats. Granted, it wasn’t enough pain that I couldn’t enjoy the game, beer, or lackluster company. But enough pain that I was aware of it – and aware that it wasn’t the first time I had felt pain when I’m unable to stretch my legs out.

So after some pretty serious thoughts about it, I realized I didn’t wanna be a cripple in my later life. Don’t get me wrong – I don’t want to run marathons in my 50s or take hiking vacations in my 60s like my parents do. But I’d like to be able to chase my grandkids (save the comments) around and just get around like a normal human being. And I figured unless I dramatically cut back on the running, this wasn’t gonna happen.

Last Thursday – a week ago – was the last day I ran. I took the weekend off altogether for yet another Vegas rendezvous, and since Monday I’ve been doing the elliptical. Every time I walk into the gym, I have to pull myself away from the treadmill like G or T from the strip club when their flight is 30 minutes away. After all, it has so many advantages over the elliptical. First off, exercising on the half skiing, half running elliptical just plain looks silly. Frankly, it’s a little tougher for me and makes me sweat like an animal. Lastly and probably most importantly, is the lack of motivation. Let me explain. At UCLA’s Wooden Center, where I work out, there are 4 rows of cardio equipment. The first row is the exercise bikes, typically manned by older people with the knee issues I’m trying to avoid. The second row is the ellipticals, with probably a 70/30 female-male ratio. The last two rows are the treadmills. Starting to get my picture? Those of you who go to the gym and look around to make sure you get a machine “with a view” certainly understand where I’m coming from. Needless to say, this has been a wildly underrated challenge in trying to kick the habit. I’ve made it into the gym 3 times without getting on a treadmill – and haven’t even puked or broken out in a cold sweat yet. Here’s to hoping I can stay off the wagon (or is it “on”?).