Smooth Segues are in first place, at least

As I currently do not have a wife and therefore am placed dead last in my social circle's wife arms race (not to vulgarize the pre- and post-matrimonial bliss in which everyone is partaking), and as I am not in a physical shape that could be described as ideal, resolutions have been made (albeit passively).

Now that the weather is mostly nice, I'm going running one morning each weekend. I am going to run up the Promenade and over to the Brooklyn Bridge, and then across the Brooklyn Bridge, and then ideally back, unless I die first. I am going to wear a Columbia tee whilst running, which will catch the eye a goodly number of physically-active/attractive females, each wearing college tees of their own. A rock-scissors-paperesque calculation will be performed whenever one of them crosses my path, and if my tee is from a higher ranked university (based on a formula of my own devising not quite as biased [read: down on Columbia] as the U.S. News rankings), I will win. I am still a bit unclear on what the tangible results of winning will be–perhaps I get to douse her with my water bottle? In any case, this will do wonders for my love life.

I made good on this resolution (or at least the practical portions of it) this past Saturday. It was a triathlon of sorts, with strong showings in both the walking at a normal pace and slouching-and-panting events, but a questionable performance when it came down to running. In any case, the Brooklyn Bridge is much too crowded for sustained running during the weekend. I found my mind wandering a bit during one of the slouching-and-panting spells, puzzling over how they manage to route tens of thousands of marathon runners through the bridge's narrow pedestrian path. I then realized that they must have the participants run down in the lanes meant for auto traffic, which I considered trying myself until I also realized that they must block off said auto traffic prior to starting the marathon.

I wasn't in a position to negotiate a betrothal given that level of physical and mental fatigue, though I can only assume the
Columbia Daily Spectator tee (one of maybe six extant?) on my doubled-over torso generated a buzz amoungst the opposite sex. But
at least my hamstrings now hurt like nobody's fucking business.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Eddie Vedder is Still an Incoherent Drunk

Are you acquainted with our state's stringent usury laws?

(Re-)Enabling Twitter -> Facebook Posting