American Football and Lactic Acid…

There seems to be a direct correlation between the playing of American Rules Football and an incredible buildup of lactic acid in the thighs and hams of the participants. I just recently experienced this phenomena while playing a rather violent pickup game this past Sunday. By the end of the day, I was beaten, bruised, and thoroughly worn down, and that dreaded lactic acid was already seeping into my every cell. I imagined that those little lactic acids were gleefully frolicking about in my veins, clogging up all sorts of passageways and generally disturbing the peace. It makes me shudder just thinking about it.

Monday morning rolled around right on schedule, of course, and hit me like a freight train. I oozed out of bed and set about my morning rituals: Bathroom, kitchen, closet, keys, wallet, leave, go back for cell phone, leave, arrive at work…accept this time, I felt like I had put in a full day’s work by 9 am. My legs were like logs, my feet like bricks. Needless to say, it was a rather long day.

I took my wife out for tea after work, my intention being to sit and have a long talk about nothing in particular in a coffee shop. We ended up shopping for a new outfit. How does that happen? I’m really not quite sure. Somewhere between her cute smile and sparkly eyes, she turns her ideas into my ideas, or something to that effect. She practically makes me believe it was my idea for her to try on a new outfit. So there I stand, feeling rather smug and pleased with myself, while she tries on some Miss Mis jeans…whatever those are. It’s not until she apologizes about ruining my date idea that I realize what has happened. I sulk a bit, naturally, playing it up and all, but really I’m just happy that she’s happy. And that the lactic acid seems to have finally worked its way out of my system.



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