Tales from the Sedentary Life

The view from the couch, dear readers, is a lonely one. Since spraining my ankle six days ago, the couch has become my island, and my dog Mattie has become my Wilson. If I had a telescope, I could be creepy, paranoid, “Rear Window” Jimmy Stewart, instead of the Jimmy Stewart we’re all used to watching this time of year on AMC.

When the alarm goes off in the morning, I hobble from bed to couch, fire up the laptop, balance it on my good leg and prop my right leg up on a stack of pillows. There I sit for eight hours until the work day ends and I can swap my work laptop out for my own laptop…and stay on the couch.

With all this couch time, here are some observations and ramblings on the sedentary life:

• I feel fat.



Mattie about sums up how we
both feel.

• Every day I download the Mike O’Meara Show podcast and listen to it while commuting, grocery shopping or otherwise doing some task that needs to be joy-infused. The guys occasionally do a segment where they talk in their “fat guy” voices and go around the room saying what they want to eat. My wife and I have started to speak to one another in fat guy voices because, though I can’t exercise this week, I still eat like I’m running 60 miles a week. It goes something to the tune of, “I’ll have 12 cupcakes topped with chocolate ice cream.”
• Irony rears its ugly head again when I watch this video posted by Runner’s World’s Mark Remy, essentially talking about getting off your butt and exercising. I nod vigorously at the message then slump further down into the cushions in despair. Then I pop another motrin.
• My dog worries about me. She sits with me on the couch and follows me around the house, and this time it’s not for food. My neighbor came over to walk her on Tuesday afternoon and she started whining and would not leave my side until I told her it was ok. Love that damn dog.
• I am desperate for human contact. The highlight of my weekdays has been the trip to the mailbox. I swing over there on my crutches with a backpack on. The dog mills around in the grass. I linger to see if any neighbors are outside who might want to chat. I settle on our neighbor’s Russian parents who I don’t think understand a word I’m saying. The next day I go outside, everyone runs in.
 



I'm fat.


• I think my wife is trying to make me fat. Earlier this week, she asked Facebook what she should bring her “poor, lame husband” home for dessert. I weighed in on each comment, which ranged from Cinnabon and Silver Diner milkshakes to cocaine (you know, for when the Vicodin gets weak); that night I ate 12 mini cupcakes and a cup of chocolate PinkBerry.
• I love The Big Bang Theory.
• I did all of my Christmas shopping online.
• When I’m sick or otherwise incapacitated, one of my favorite remedies is to watch movies. I hole up in the basement and emerge when there’s food. Between 4:00 p.m. Saturday and 10:00 p.m. Sunday, I watched: Any Given Sunday, Beerfest (twice), When Harry Met Sally (hush), There’s Something About Mary, Pirates of the Caribbean, and if I could have gotten off the coach, I would have dropped in Point Break. And yes, we own Point Break.
• When you don’t have an evening run, there. Is. So. Much. Time. In. The. Night. I read a book in two days because I had more than 15 minutes before turning the lights out to go to bed. 
• Another reference to the podcast above, I never really got this reference they kept making to “Whatever happened to Baby Jane” … until now. Substitute "chair" for "couch" and you'll know how I feel. And, in no way am I implying that my wife is Betty Davis. Without her, I wouldn't have eaten this week...thank God for crock pots.

• The good news is that I went to the ortho. It’s a sprain. I have a better ankle brace that means I can ditch the crutches. I’m targeting a January 2 return to the roads.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I just saw the mailman drive by. Wonder if he has time to chat.