I had just returned to the hospital yesterday afternoon. I put my school bag down and took over holding Avery from my mother-in-law. She’s been really gassy and therefore fussy, so it took a few minutes for Avery to accept that one of her two favorite people would not be rocking her. A while later the nurse walked in to take Avery’s vitals. She fussed again and my mom-in-law scooped Avery away. “We’re going for a walk,” she said. OK. I reclined on my chair/bed and opened my phone. I saw Gyarados on the radar. He spawned on the corner of Kalakaua Avenue and Philip Street. I had 14 minutes to get there. The internal debate lasted for 20 seconds. I walked out of the hospital room and power walked down the hall.
Once I made it out of the hospital I started running. My right hand clutched my phone, my left hand intermittently wiped sweat from my eyes. I was smiling the entire time.
I hate running. I tolerated running during baseball practice all those years because I wanted to play in the games. It was a means. Once I stopped playing baseball I saw no reason to run. Ever. Now, you might be thinking that this attitude easily explains away the emergence of my gut and disappearance of my jaw, but the jury’s still out. We don’t know why those things happened. Perhaps in time science will explain it to me, to us.
But I digress.
I made it to the crosswalk at Beretania and caught what I thought was a weird look from an older woman. Why is a chubby Asian man in an aloha shirt, dress pants, and dress shoes running down Punahou Street while sweating profusely? Sorry, lady, I don’t have the time to explain the intricacies of a game you care nothing about. White walking man signal. Time to run.
I got down to the crosswalk on King Street and gave the head nod to two guys in construction long sleeve t-shirts eating outside of Subway because they stared at me as I jogged toward them. I wished one of them would have shouted “Get dat Pokemon!” because at least I would have known that they knew what I was doing – because that would have been better than the WTF? faces they shot my way.
I crossed King Street and ran past the Jack in the Box. My sweat glands were all “Whaaaaaaaaaat?” as they pumped actual sweat through my pores. You have to understand: sweating is the exact scenario I go out of my way to avoid EVERY SINGLE SECOND OF EVERY SINGLE DAY. I was doing this to myself on purpose, just for the shot at catching an AR Pokemon.
Gyarados finally popped up as I neared the Aloha Sub at the corner. As you can see, his CP was pretty underwhelming. It took a few tosses to catch him, and as I stood in the biggest slice of shade I could, a car drove by. “GYARADOS!” the driver shouted. We’re all in this together.
One of the silver linings I failed to mention in that recent post is that I’ve dramatically cut down on cigarettes. I haven’t bought a pack since May. I can count the times I’ve smoked since then on one hand. I mention this because I noticed that I wasn’t completely winded on the way back to the hospital. I don’t quite believe it myself, to be honest. When I got back to the hospital, my mother-in-law was back in the room with Avery. “Where did you go?” she asked. “Look for a Pokemon,” I said. “Oh,” she said. My comeuppance came about an hour later when I tried to get off of my couch/bed. My quads were super tight. My legs almost buckled. It was a foreign feeling. The craziest part of this whole incident is the fact that I already had a Gyarados and I still ran. I don’t even want to think about what I’d be capable of if Dragonite spawned in walking/running distance.