Goals, or lack thereof

Today I played my first football (soccer) game in a long time. In fact, today was the first time I did any sort of significant exercise in a long time. I know I wrote a few days ago that I was going to begin running, but in reality, my first run was immediately prior to the soccer game -- I would have been late to the game, so I ran nine blocks through Chinatown to get to the park.

The game was a blowout, and not in our favor. I was reduced to a stumbling, panting mess, which sort of meant that my team (comprised of my co-workers) was playing one man down. Granted, our opponents were large and skilled. Okay, they weren't that large, but they were swift and adroit with the ball. Still, a part of me is refusing to make that an excuse. The fact is that I'm dreadfully out of shape, and I need to do something about it.

So, my first goal is to be able to jog twenty minutes straight without having that, you know, dying feeling. I realize twenty minutes is hardly worth cheering, but I'm taking small steps here. Besides, having run frequently in high school, I realize that the leap from twenty minutes to, say, forty minutes is exponential. That was true when I was 16, at least.

And my second goal is to avoid being an embarrassment to my co-workers on the field. This, I suspect, will be harder to accomplish.