On the run
 
  About a month ago I stepped on a scale at work.  It read 242 pounds, the heaviest I've ever been, by about a ton.
  "I've got to do something," I told myself.  Besides being my heaviest, I've never felt so bad physically.  I'm supposed to take one Prevacid pill per day for my acid reflux.  I was up to two pills a day, and a roll of Tums.  And still waking up in the middle of the night a few times a week throwing up whatever I ate for dinner.
  Add to all this the fact that over the last three months both my mother and father died in their 60's, and it was enough to wake me up- I needed to get myself in better shape, fast.  I needed to start exercising more.  Hell, I needed to start exercising, period.  I needed to set some kind of goals for myself.  
  Now, I can't stand running, I'd rather ride a bike because when I run I get shin splints from Hell.  The problem is, every time I buy a bicycle some little baggy-pants thug in the area steals it.  So I made my mind up to run in the 5K at the Bremond Polish Pickle Days in June.
  This isn't the first time that I've set this particular goal for myself.  A few years ago, a lady I worked with at the newspaper and I agreed to participate in this 5K.  I can't remember what happened to derail the plan.  I think she somehow hurt her leg, or ankle, or knee.  And I got switched to a different shift at my main job, so I couldn't get myself ready to run 3.1 miles.  To tell you the truth, my heart probably wasn't all the way in it, either.
  This time has to different, for my health's sake if nothing else.  I needed to recruit someone that could be tough on me and keep me committed.  On days when I don't feel like running- and rest assured, there will be many- this person has to be able to push me and make me go.  They have to be persistent, relentless; maybe even get on my nerves a little.  I had the perfect person in mind.
  I came straight home and told my son about the run.  You tell this kid that you're going to take him fishing in two weeks, and he'll remind you once an hour until his hook is in the water.  I asked him if he thought he could run 3.1 miles with me.
  "Pshh, yeah," he said, way too confidently for my taste.  The truth is, while he probably can't run three miles right now, he'll get there way before I will.
  Because make no mistake about it- I'm starting from scratch.  Somehow, I've got to get myself able to run 3.1 miles in six month's time when I can't run the .1 right now.  I've made smaller goals to get me there.  By mid February I want to be able to run a mile, by mid April two miles, and mid June three miles.
  To help myself out, I've started eating healthier too.  When I say healthier, what I mean is the POWs here at Camp Hearne probably ate more than I've eaten lately.
  Other than Christmas Eve and Christmas day (after all, I am human) I've had nothing but chicken and salad and salad and chicken.  I've had grilled chicken, baked chicken, broiled chicken, grilled chicken salads, crispy chicken salads, and mushy chicken salad sandwhiches.  I haven't had a good greasy burger, or a nice crispy pound of bacon in over a month.  But as bad as that's been, I have to admit that I've had only six heartburn pills and zero Tums in a month.
  The sad part?  I'm still not sure if it's a good trade-off or not..