Exercise

One prescription for battling the blues that came my way from wildly divergent sources, after I posted about feeling bleak, was exercise.

I definitely feel better after I've run around a field tossing about a Frisbee with Monkeyboy in DC.

Part natural endorphins being released through exercise part parental glee, I'm guessing.

Maybe I'll join a "35-and-over" county basketball league.

I'm a triple-threat player. I can kill a team with my errant shot, my inability to play defense or a vertical leap that even Caucasian guys laugh at.

O.K., maybe not basketball.

I had fun at Monkeyboy's youth choir swim-and-sing party this past Sunday. And the county pools are dirt cheap to use. I oughtta get there more often.

On the other hand, I've spent a lifetime denouncing exercise as highly overrated. Jim Fixx and Euell Gibbons both died of heart attacks when I was a teenager and Keith Richard is still alive.

And it seems as if everyone I know who's physically fit is also injured (or recovering from an injury, or rehabbing one.)

Besides, I AM in shape. Round is a shape.

O.K., I've reached a compromise. Thanks for listening while I worked this out. I'm gonna start swimming regularly, but, in the interests of comedy, I'm going to deny doing it.

Got my resolution resolved with a week to spare.

Cool.