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Wednesday, May 5, 2004 - 8:05 p.m.

I'm run(cough)ing(wheeze) again

Inspired in part by Jessica and Heather -- and the fact that Casey is exercising more just by walking to work a bit every day -- I resumed my running schedule today.

Only about seven months after temporarily halting it.

I was also inspired by the numbers that came up on the scale I stepped on at IKEA on Saturday, numbers that, if they're accurate (and I shudder to think that they may be actually shorting the true figure; you know, to sell more $7 scales) would be the highest recorded weight since I started keeping records back in 1976. (Well, I suppose my doctor and then my mom started keeping the records, but I'm entrusted with that duty now.)

While I'm not "a big fatty" as Casey is wont to describe cats and pudgy babies, I can do better than this. When you start noticing the gut from the head-on view in the mirror after the shower, it's time to do something about it. Just because I live in New Jersey -- born and raised to boot -- doesn't mean I have to aspire to look like Tony Soprano 20 years from now. Yes, I know women think he's sexy, but that can be attributed to one of two things:

1. Those women are in the show, who are poor, desperate whores looking for a sugar daddy to buy all the shit Tony buys for them.

2. Those women are watching the show, who are attracted to him because either a) he's an actor or b) he makes a lot of money.

I don't have that money, so it won't happen to me.

So I went down the street along a new route I planned out based on a walk Casey and I took a few months ago. I crossed the main road and continued up along the street that bears the same name as ours, though it's in another town and could easily have a separate name. But it doesn't. I did fine passing the little park and the softball game going on between 8-year-old girls and across another main road.

Then came the third two-lane road, which also had no traffic, allowing me to breeze across. But then there's the hill. It's a short hill, only about two driveways in the stretch, but it's steep. It's almost as steep as the one -- the one and only hill -- on the 3.1 mile cross-country course on the campus of my high school that I often run when I'm down in Little Silver.

So that killed me. I made it up and pushed on to the next sidestreet, but then I had to take a break. I'd hoped, on this first run back, to make it at least to the end of the block near the shopping center and the end of the road. It's nearly an even mile (I think about 9/10ths) from our front door to the end of the street, as I clocked it on the way to work one day. But I just couldn't do it.

I continued walking, however, up to the Little League field where there was a game going on. I was surprised at how young some of the kids looked. The yellow team had a catcher -- or, rather, a kid wearing the catcher's gear -- who was at least a foot taller than some of his teammates and the batters I saw on the blue team. This kid looked like he was 4; some of the others might've been 8 or 10. I have no idea how old kids are just by looking at them.

I watched the 3-foot-4 yellow team catcher strike out with the bases loaded to end one inning, then I watched the first batter up for the blue team (who was two feet taller than the yellow catcher) rip a single past the third baseman -- who tried for it but didn't come close -- and then under the glove of the left fielder. But then the batter missed first base, so he had to go back for it, and he only reached second.

Then the yellow pitcher hit the next batter, and a new pitcher came in. I watched him strike out a blue batter who didn't take the bat off his shoulder to swing at a single pitch and turned to head home.

I was a little put off by the fathers yelling instructions at the kids. They certainly sounded more harsh and demanding than I remember. There's a way to coach and teach without sounding like a college coach barking out instructions to freshmen on the first day of practice.

On the jog home, I decided that on future runs, I'll have to walk down the hill. It could end up being too much on my shins and knees, pounding the concrete like that, trying not to run straight into the cross street.

Finally, I'd just like to say that I like Friends and I've kept watching it over the seasons, but thank God it's ending tomorrow. I've had enough of these NBC promos and every news program talking about it. I am looking forward to watching it at the drive-in theater at the Tribeca Film Festival tomorrow night. It's a hot ticket, I hear.

And then Sunday you can look for me on CBS as I attend the Survivor finale and reunion special at (The Theater at) Madison Square Garden.

Connections are cool.

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