Okay! Excitement! I get to do some boasting!

So, I just went for a run.  Look how casual and oh-I-exercise-all-the-time that sentence was, what? I can feel my abs hardening as I type.  Actually, it was three two minutes running, ten skipping to music, and eighteen walking with my hands over my face.  I had to cover my face to keep it from falling off.  My hands are still so numb that sentences - for example, "So, I just went for a run" - keep coming out like, "So, I jist went fo r a ru." As Lemony Snicket would put it, my hands are so cold I can barely type these worfs.
I have not willingly gone outside for about three months - and here I am suggesting outings! And outings (outsings, it keeps coming out) where exercise was involved! I'm so proud.

Anyways, it was freezing.  It hurt to breathe.  Our

Well.  That cut off "our" was not a typing error.  About twenty seconds ago, just as I was about to move into a stirring description of the beautiful trail and the river and the icicles, I made a discovery that significantly lessened my enjoyment of this brief foray into the world of physical exercise.  If you guessed dog poo on my shoe, you're right!

So.

The obvious conclusion:  I am clearly not meant to exercise.  At most, I'm supposed to trifle with it every once in a long while.  Maybe toss a frisbee at picnics. Move furniture.  Things like that.

Ah, well. We can't all be exercise people.  I mean, if we want to maintain the percentages which "statistic has laid down for our guidance", some of us have to be sedentary.  It's just the way things are.
(Melancholy, and obviously fake sigh, as if I am sorry to see a life of physical fitness jogging away from me.)

P.S.  That is the lake behind our bestie family's house.  It isn't green like that right now, but I put it on here to give you an idea what sort of post this could have been if it hadn't been for some fat dog.  I mean, I can just hear the poetic words of the could-have-been post in my head.  What a pity.