Today I turn 33. Yeah, whatever. I remember a time when these things used to mean more to me. If it fell on a weekday, I’d take the day off work so I could…I don’t know, do something? To be honest, I can’t remember in years past ever actually doing anything, but I may have.
For some reason I woke up an hour ahead of my alarm this morning, so my brain gave me what I thought was an awesome idea. “Hey, you should get up and go jogging,” my brain said to me. “You remember jogging, don’t you? You used to do it quite regularly, and doing it in the morning always made you feel great for the rest of the day with loads of energy. Go ahead, Man. Make it happen. Don’t waste away this hour staring at the ceiling.” So I took my brain’s advice and I went jogging.
I can’t really speak to my energy level, but I can say that right now my left knee is killing me. The irony is that if I hadn’t jogged, I’d feel fine right now. Stupid exercise.