Training montage

I want to be hopeful that my cards will turn up today, but it´s a stretch of my imagination.

After wasting away much of the day with Leonard and Sheldon and Raj and Howard, I drag myself up for a run. The big park in Quito is pretty impressive. Aside from being big, it´s got football pitches, basketball courts, volleyball nets, a concrete BMX track, a dirt BMX track and a running track with stops for sit ups, pull ups, balancing on logs, rope climbing and doing whatever any amateur can hope to do on those gymnasts rings. That´s all the motivation I need to act out some generic training montage.

My dream montage isn´t playing out how I'd like. Since Bolivia my stomach has not been quite right. It's not very bad at all, but it's not quite right. There's something in South American food that offends it. Running is unsettling me. It doesn't like being shaken all about the place.

After twenty minutes of gingerly running, I'm feeling a stitch coming. It occurs to me that I don't even know what a stitch is, but I know it means game over. At best I can manage forty seconds of this limp jogging before it threatens again. None of stopping, stretching, and cursing seem to ease the problem. Carl Weathers himself couldn't rescue this. We're done here.

Walking back through the park, I can at least play with the fitness equipment. After a few sit ups, I come to the conclusion that they're hard and my beer consumption renders them utterly pointless. Shimmying across and between pull up bars is equally difficult, but at least it has a satisfying computer game action hero novelty. I thought I could climb a rope, but I'm disappointed to find that I can't. Pah. Forget this.

There's no mail today.