physical trainwreck

as much of a nerd as i am, i advocate exercise. maybe not the hardcore stuff people use to try to get rock hard abs or tree-trunk biceps etc. (which, incidentally, is pretty common amongst my friends who attempt to get girls' / guys' attention by looking fit. come on guys, we don't live in the 7th century anymore). but having a baseline level of fitness is always good. obesity being one of the leading causes of morbidity in the world, leading to (or at least having a high concordance / correlation with) other diseases such as coronary heart disease, respiratory diseases, degenerative diseases etc etc. everything in moderation i guess.

but anyway, to say this, i must obviously practice what i preach. to an extent, i do exercise a bit. jogging once a week counts for something, eh. but that's nowhere near the suggested amount. so when some friends asked me to join them for a round of 'touch rugby' i was mildly enthusiastic about the idea. after some persuasion (there won't be much contact, it's just touch [rugby]. nobody's going to tackle you etc.) and attempted bribery (more on this another time), we set off. it was pretty comforting that in the car i went in, there were two other guys who were just about as skinny as i was, and probably slightly shorter. in retrospect, though, my kind of skinny is 'all skin and bones, skeleton' whereas their skinny would mean 'lean, mean, fighting machines. no fat, all muscle, baby'.

anyway, imagine my horror when we turned up to the field and everyone else looked like the picture below. that's right, cuh. you just can't imagine this sh*t up.


everything started fine, though. they did a bit of touch rugby, where, when you tap someone running the ball, they'd be considered out and would have to start a new run. that was cool. i even got the ball a few times and ran around a bit. god knows i had the motivation to run pretty fast seeing as i had a couple of buff-ass guys coming at me at about 67.39 kmh. i was having fun at this point. it wasn't that much ice-cream and candy when people started slapping me on the ass, but i'd place the 'fun' factor higher than jogging alone. and incidentally, probably lower than the fun one of these guys was having, tapping people's asses even when they didn't have the ball. i mean, i'm not homophobic or anything. but, really. someone has to draw a line somewhere. here, have a picture so that your life will be forever scarred. what has been seen cannot be unseen. although, i imagine the girls might be slightly turned on.


anyway. there's gayer things that could have happened. like someone dick-grabbing during the heat of things. or lesbo-chicks making out in the background. or someone pulling down another persons pants to reveal what would later come to be known as 'his cleavage'. not that i'm saying any of this happened in actuality, but you know. just saying. *shudder*

but yeah, then they said 'okay guys, warm-up's over. time to get down to business'. i was like, 'okay, cool, so now i have to run faster or dodge stuff. maybe slap someone's ass a bit harder' (giggity. get your mind out of the gutter, you dirty, dirty boy). but, you guessed it, that's not what they meant. what happened next, i can only describe with an analogy:

on a dark, but starry night, an elk is prancing through a forest. elegant, poised, venerable; the beast is majestic in every sense of the word. as our elk is rushing against the wind, steeplechasing logs and avoiding low-hanging branches of ash and beech, a small, slightly rotund object crosses his path. what is this? a rabbit, mayhap? or a cone of pine, whose dropping now marks the end of a winter? and our protagonist now, picking up this object unknown, sees in his peripheral vise, a glimmer of light. a will o' the wisp to which he cannot attribute a colour as yet (for elks have no colour vision. certainly not at this time of night, in a din darkened as soot would unto velvet). but rapidly, the light comes forward. momentum behind it, an approaching curve, relative to our unmoving elk. the seconds seem unerringly infinite, and our elk stares into the headlights of this being, fixated, unwary. BAM. MOTHAFU*KA GOT ROLLED BY A TRUCK, YO.