Healthy living will be the death of us all

I've been getting up at 4:15 AM the past few days to go meet with a trainer who was very impressed by my football escapades last year. He's actually training Andrea on getting better times in her upcoming marathon, and because we both have football in common and he's an ex-football trainer and coach (NFL, even), he said that while she's doing her long exercises, he'd work with me to hone my techniques and whatnot for tryouts this year.

OH MY GOD do I ever want to kill this man.

I've been working out quite regularly since December last year, and I felt I was doing a fine job. This guy has me doing drills that not only knock the wind right out of me, they've made it impossible to climb or descend the stairs in my home without groaning like I'm 74.

Oh, and he's also got me waking up at freakin' 4:15AM. Which is why the timing of the blog entries and yesterday's MI story has been off a bit (well, actually, the MI story is a bit different - I was going to sneak it on Facebook, but ended up screwing up the formatting, so I deleted it and just gave up. I'll try that again another time).

But yeah... Here I am, 31 years old trying to play some foosball, and crying about being sore like a wuss. It strikes me as apparent that I could probably eliminate two of those three descriptors by just sitting on my ass and playing Burnout Paradise all day.

I might not live as long, and I might not look as good, but dammit... I'd be sleeping later than 4:15AM.