I’ve signed up for an outdoor soccer team. Our first game is a week and a half away and I am dreadfully aware that my lactic acid tolerance is at a record low. Tonight, in an effort to prevent my untimely soccer-related death, I took to the field alone in warmups and cleats with body maintenance in mind. I’ll probably be going to bed in a few minutes.

Grass smells delicious on cool spring evenings, and mud has never looked more beautiful than it does between my cleats and on my pants. My training regimen will be as demanding as possible for the next ten days; after the first game I’ll evaluate my status: Lean athletic goal machine? Spindly youth pretending to have asthma?