My significant other has recently channeled some disturbing news to me. While running around the yard and kicking a ball around with my two-year old she delivered this haymaker to my manhood: “You run like Steven Seagal.”
Interpretation: You flail your arms around like a double jointed wet noodle when trying to sprint…Or simply put, you run like a little girl.
At first I thought my wife was just jealous of my God-given talent and blazing puma like speed. After all, you should see her try to run. I always tell her she runs like a cartoon; you know, the Wile E. Coyote type running style, where the feet are flying a mile a minute but they are only kicking up dust in the same stationary spot.
I could run backwards faster than my wife can run forwards. I would challenge her to a footrace to prove it, but highly strenuous activity is dangerous to women this close to their post delivery date.
Being a proud track coach, one who always stresses the proper ear to hip arm rotation, I proceeded with an attempt to prove her wrong. But in my attempt to display impeccable running form, I pulled a hamstring.
I bet Steven Seagal never pulled a hamstring while running down greasy drug lords and mob bosses.
Give me a couple of weeks, and I’ll be back to top speed. By then my wife will be physically able to try to cash that check her mouth has been writing.
What happens when Seagal faces off with a Looney Toon? Stay tuned.