Footwork

I’ve always been kind of suspicious of exercise. Over the years I developed a lot of elaborate justifications for my hostility. First it was some sort of logical fallacy, or bogus rhetorical leap, equating it with sports and competition. If you sort of hated the football players and wrestling dudes in high school, you could lapse into hating everything they liked, just to keep your identity in line. If they liked beer, we liked weed. If they liked Guns N Roses, we liked Black Sabbath. It was easy. If they liked exercise, we liked not. Or maybe it had something to do with my genetic inheritance. My peasant feet were made for tromping through a potato field. They never looked good in slim running shoes. And then there was the whole muscular Christianity of the gym. Physical self-improvement seemed so unaccepting of the nature of things, of decrepitude. Not to mention the seven deadly sins, which eat had its charm.

Listen to “The Jogger,” a funny anti-jogging tirade from what must have been the early days of the past-time’s popularity. It was written by Shel Silverstein, as were many of the songs on Lullabys, Legends and Lies. Bobby Bare was kind of like a cross between Roger Miller and Jerry Jeff Walker, with boozy humor on the one side and boozy something else on the other.

Qualudes again, just for fun.

“The Jogger” – Bobby Bare

“Qualudes Again” – Bobby Bare