15 June 2008
See Matt Run…Run Matt Run
YOW! RAWR! My roommate’s stereo blared noise, I mean music, from dusk ‘til dawn. Breakfast, lunch, or dinner, he stuffed his face with burgers and fries, milk and cookies, and maybe green eggs and ham. Some days he would invite girls over to hear him play songs from the record he was producing. It was impossible to study chemistry or biology. I couldn’t even enjoy a delicious Jamba Juice. All I could do was suffer. After a month I couldn’t take it, I had to escape. I went to the gym, hoping to find sanctuary among the machines. The basketball courts were overflowing. The weight room’s line snaked all the way to the rec center’s entrance. Every bike, elliptical, and treadmill was claimed. The track was a last resort, but when I stepped inside I knew running was the answer. Running helped me relax, greatly improved my athleticism, but unfortunately caused me to develop planters fasciitis.
Flip-flop, clip-clop, pitter-patter; the rhythmic footfalls were a soothing sound. Brett’s album, featuring my alarm clock as background ambiance, was a far cry from the peace and tranquility of the track. One, one, one… Two, two, two… Three, three, three… Counting the laps was like chanting Ohm. Maybe it was the endorphins, maybe it was the exhaustion, but when I ran everything was sunshine and happiness. Mitochondria burning up glucose: exciting! Covalent bonds between carbon and hydrogen in sugar: fascinating! My roommate’s attempt at producing his own CD: hilarious! I wanted to keep running forever, at least one hundred miles, but my body could only go for two.
Soon two miles a day became five, and I started to see results. My metabolism was a ravenous beast. Bunches of bananas, boxes of protein bars, and smoothie after smoothie served as fuel. Not to be outdone, Brett would eat an entire pizza by himself as I laced up my shoes. It was the tale of two roommates,...