CharBroiled
Active member
Once again, I made a commitment to myself.
On my wall hangs a cutout of an article. The topic of the article is hunting healthy, serving as a reminder to upland bird hunters that not just dogs need exercise before Opening Day.
Last year on Opening Day, I wore a pedometer for our half-day hunt because I was curious as to how many steps I would take during the walks. Let's face it, we just don?t walk straight lines while hunting, there's a lot of zig-zagging in the fields. I was taken aback to discover I walked some 25,000 steps, roughly around 10-12 miles during the day. No wonder I was tired.
This year, I decided I wouldn't be as fatigued as last year so I would get a jump on the season by doing a little training. So I settled on the notion of it didn't matter about my pace, as long as I was committed to being stronger in the legs for the season.
Armed with my strategically-picked music of up-tempo rock songs to pace myself and a stopwatch to accurately represent my time, I was ready to jog my way to being a non-stop bulldozer of a hunter on Nov. 14.
I learned something crucial in the first 100 yards.
I learned if you haven?t done something in a while which fills your lungs with lots of air while you are battling allergies, every bit of phlegm decides it?s time to come back up in a fit of coughing. After hacking up what must have been the last two years' worth of allergies, I powered on.
There has always been a saying when revolving around fitness, the motto of "feel the burn." I am pretty sure whoever came up with this slogan intended it to be directed at the muscles. Not someone's lungs. Every breath which seemed to be escaping left what can only be described the feeling of a gaping chest wound in my rib cage. I was sure I was exhaling smoke and I am not a smoker. However, I continued on.
Shortly thereafter, I think I was stabbed. Right between the stomach and the bottom of my rib cage some type of ghostly apparition drove a sharp object into my side. I couldn't believe I was getting mugged while trying to run in quiet little Hesston, in broad daylight nonetheless.
Imagine my surprise when I looked down not finding a kitchen knife protruding from my ribs. Maybe it was just a cramp, something my muscles have developed as a trick to keep me on my toes.
Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, the burn started. My legs were on fire. I was feeling the burn of my poor quads, hamstrings and calves as they were being consumed by the fire of 1000 burning suns. This much burn had to be turning my shoes into a puddle of molten goo as I could no longer feel my feet.
But I could feel my ankles, both horrible sprain-at-the-wrong step ankles. These joints must have been swelling to the size of volleyballs as they had to be cracking with every single step. I secretly hoped I would trip allowing someone to come along and take me to the hospital.
Through the haze of pain, I somehow found my way home, flopping down in the yard. When I came to, I checked how far I had made it on Google Earth. I was guessing it might have been marathon distance, maybe even ultra-marathon distance. Surely world class runners would be clapping me on the back for my trial, telling me how well I did and the opener wouldn't be much more than a leisurely stroll as compared to the coast-to-coast run I had just endured.
My run lasted all of one-third of a mile.
Maybe I can block on Opening Day.
On my wall hangs a cutout of an article. The topic of the article is hunting healthy, serving as a reminder to upland bird hunters that not just dogs need exercise before Opening Day.
Last year on Opening Day, I wore a pedometer for our half-day hunt because I was curious as to how many steps I would take during the walks. Let's face it, we just don?t walk straight lines while hunting, there's a lot of zig-zagging in the fields. I was taken aback to discover I walked some 25,000 steps, roughly around 10-12 miles during the day. No wonder I was tired.
This year, I decided I wouldn't be as fatigued as last year so I would get a jump on the season by doing a little training. So I settled on the notion of it didn't matter about my pace, as long as I was committed to being stronger in the legs for the season.
Armed with my strategically-picked music of up-tempo rock songs to pace myself and a stopwatch to accurately represent my time, I was ready to jog my way to being a non-stop bulldozer of a hunter on Nov. 14.
I learned something crucial in the first 100 yards.
I learned if you haven?t done something in a while which fills your lungs with lots of air while you are battling allergies, every bit of phlegm decides it?s time to come back up in a fit of coughing. After hacking up what must have been the last two years' worth of allergies, I powered on.
There has always been a saying when revolving around fitness, the motto of "feel the burn." I am pretty sure whoever came up with this slogan intended it to be directed at the muscles. Not someone's lungs. Every breath which seemed to be escaping left what can only be described the feeling of a gaping chest wound in my rib cage. I was sure I was exhaling smoke and I am not a smoker. However, I continued on.
Shortly thereafter, I think I was stabbed. Right between the stomach and the bottom of my rib cage some type of ghostly apparition drove a sharp object into my side. I couldn't believe I was getting mugged while trying to run in quiet little Hesston, in broad daylight nonetheless.
Imagine my surprise when I looked down not finding a kitchen knife protruding from my ribs. Maybe it was just a cramp, something my muscles have developed as a trick to keep me on my toes.
Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, the burn started. My legs were on fire. I was feeling the burn of my poor quads, hamstrings and calves as they were being consumed by the fire of 1000 burning suns. This much burn had to be turning my shoes into a puddle of molten goo as I could no longer feel my feet.
But I could feel my ankles, both horrible sprain-at-the-wrong step ankles. These joints must have been swelling to the size of volleyballs as they had to be cracking with every single step. I secretly hoped I would trip allowing someone to come along and take me to the hospital.
Through the haze of pain, I somehow found my way home, flopping down in the yard. When I came to, I checked how far I had made it on Google Earth. I was guessing it might have been marathon distance, maybe even ultra-marathon distance. Surely world class runners would be clapping me on the back for my trial, telling me how well I did and the opener wouldn't be much more than a leisurely stroll as compared to the coast-to-coast run I had just endured.
My run lasted all of one-third of a mile.
Maybe I can block on Opening Day.
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