This isn’t all that interesting.
Breaking into someone’s house can be bad enough. It can be worse when it’s someone you know. Even worse when they catch you doing it.
Then again, maybe it will be interesting.
Okay, when you train to be a superhero you gotta do all kinds of things. Weight training… Endurance… Cardio…
Cardio? Is that even still a thing? Whatever…
Anyways, in our efforts to be in top-notch shape to battle crime, chase it down, run away from it (or the police)… Erich and I decided to add in some extra training: Jogging.
Now, I hate jogging. I think running is one of the stupidest forms of exercise there is. And, regardless of how you might feel about it, there is plenty of evidence to both support or condemn the stupid sport. That’s how I feel about it. Now before I become fully engaged with my soapbox lecture regarding jogging, I will return you to your regularly scheduled nonsense.
Yeah, so, Erich and I—after weighing the options—decided that an early morning jog would be best. If we ran in the evening, we might have to cut short any activities we would like to participate in. If we ran during the middle of the day, we would get all sweaty and gross. But, if you run in the wee hours of the early morning, even if you get all sweaty and gross, you are going to shower for the start of the day anyway, so… Morning was perfect. Almost.
In the many years that I have known Erich, he has lived in many a different home. One of these locales was the abode of his Aunt Peggy. Here, Erich had his bedroom in the partially unfinished basement. This situation allowed him to almost do almost whatever he wished with his living accommodations. The main thing he aimed for was to suspend his bed from the ceiling. Which he did—via the help of some length of chain and an eye bolt or two. It was like a hammock, but without the sag.
Why is this important, you may ask? Well, because it is. And, there you have it.
As mentioned before, Erich and I had decided to begin morning runs. We knew about how long we wanted to run—in both time and distance—and so we set a route to accomplish our goals. Part of our plan incorporated me going to Peg’s home to get Erich. Given that my mother was not his biggest fan, and since we didn’t want to add fuel to the fire (so to speak), Peg’s house it was. Day number one went off without a hitch. I arrived at the appointed time to find Erich ready to go. And, off we ran. We also returned within the expected time. Perfect. I was able to get home, shower, and get ready for school—on time.
Day two went about the same.
On day three, I waited a few minutes for Erich to finish getting ready.
By day four Peggy had told Erich that she was not happy about being woken up by his alarm clock at 6:15 in the morning. See, back then kids, there were no cell or smartphones with alarms. We had alarm clocks. They had one volume: Loud. Also, the other children in the house didn’t really like the early wake-up either. So, new plan: I walk into the house (quietly).
The first attempt went well. The back door was unlocked, I snuck into the house, went downstairs, woke Erich, we ran, and I went home. Okay. This plan was good.
Day six: Locked back door. I went to Erich’s window and tapped it until he woke up. Small hiccup but no harm or foul. Yet there was. Peggy had heard the tapping of possible burglars (it was just us) and was woken up. She was not happy about this. We needed another plan because it was Aunt Peg that had locked the back door after Erich had unlocked it after Peggy had locked it. She had awoken in the wee hours of the morning and—as was her custom upon doing so—walked her home and double-checked locks on windows and doors. Foiled.
Alright, new plan: Erich would leave his window open, then I could just whisper into his room, wake him, and off we would go a-runnin’. That didn’t work well either.
It seemed that in the chill of the night, Erich would wrap himself up all snuggly in his blankets. This made what seemed to be an impenetrable audio shield. In addition, the design of the window allowed it to only open a small bit. I could not throw anything of significance at my friend that would alert him to my presence.
New, new plan (after Peggy spoke to both of us about how sick and tired she was of getting woken up by us in our attempts to run. granted, she understood that we were just attempting to exercise and not trying to disrupt her household, but still…): We asked Peggy to not lock the back door—so I could enter. She was tentatively okay with this. If I were to ever find the door locked, I was to leave it be and go home. If I were to find it open, I was alright to enter and collect my running buddy.
This worked… …okay. Sort of.
In order to have the time to get myself ready, get to where Erich lived, quietly get inside, tiptoe down the stairs, and wake Erich (which, depending on how much sleep he got, may or may not be easy and/or time-consuming), wait for him to get ready, sneak back outside, then go for a run, I had to wake up even earlier. And, to his credit, Erich did his best to be awake and ready himself quickly. But, when you have to do everything as quietly as we did, some aspects of this endeavor began to lose their luster.
On the difficult days of trying to wake Erich, he had given me instruction to just leave him and do the run on my own if he didn’t respond—there had been a couple times where it took his sleepy self almost fifteen minutes to get ready. Along with that, there were days where I had not awaken—due to exhaustion—only to be chided by my friend about how I had failed to pick him up for the jog. Or, he would ask why I didn’t wake him, only to learn that I had tried and left (I would try to swing the bed on its chains with the hopes that the motion would alert him… nope).
So much effort went into this entire endeavor. So many small—but still infuriating—roadblocks. What to do about it all? After some lengthy discussions, we developed the perfect solution. A solution that would take into account all the current issues we had already encountered and that would include the ones we had yet to face (cold, rain, snow, etcetera…): Quit.
So, we did. That’s all I have to say about that.
There is a magnificently hilarious song, performed by Ray Stevens, about jogging—all the pain, misery, and suffering that goes along with that effort used in pursuit of ‘health and wellbeing’.