The irony of this situation kills me.

In an attempt at self-improvement after months of lethargic bliss, I swore to myself last night that I would return to a regular exercise regimen.

I trudged to the health club this afternoon, and in the locker room, made a point to stretch every limb and muscle in my body, so as to avoid (or at least allay) the inevitable cramps and soreness of not having exercised in ages.

I climbed on the treadmill and did a steady 15 minutes of brisk, uphill power-walking before breaking into a run. I suppose I grew a bit overzealous, and eventually worked up a sprint, when my keys jiggled out of the treadmill's tray.

Stopping the machine, I stepped off the machine's conveyor floor to pick up my keys. As soon as I stood up, everything faded to black, and I felt my body convulsing violently on the floor in a motion reminiscent of a seizure.

I finally woke up with blurry vision, trying to remember where I was. I managed to stand up, and, staggering, moaning, and panting the whole way, dragged my cut-up, bruised body back to the locker room. Why no one noticed anything, I know not; I suppose seeing half-conscious, agonized individuals wandering the halls is a normal sight among health nuts at the gym.

Fast forward to three hours later, I'm in the ER. Not epileptic, pregnant, or ill, just totally healthy. I didn't have a seizure, my head just lacked oxygen and blood flow as a result of physical overexertion.

In short: I try to get healthy, but then my body tells me to fuck off, and I end up in the hospital. Something tells me it's way easier (and less painful) just to be squishy.