A Friendly Jog - Sex Stories

A Friendly Jog

It’s funny what a love for running can lead to. For most of my life, I was a certified couch potato. In my twenties, I would have laughed in the face of anyone who suggested going out for a friendly jog. That term was an oxymoron, I’d point out, like jumbo shrimp or only choice. There was nothing friendly about jogging. At best, it was a waste of time. At worst, it was some twisted, masochistic ritual that required special shoes. Or so I thought.

At some point in my mid-thirties, though, everything changed. I can’t tell you exactly what the catalyst was. My best guess is that I just got fed up with getting winded every time I went to the fridge. I started eating right. I gave up garbage like fast food and soda. I even got a membership at the discount gym chain. My wife and friends formed a search party to figure out where the real me went.

It wasn’t easy at first, but after a few years of hard work it was really paying off. Where I used to pack a spare tire, I was now packing defined abs. I traded in McRibs for being able to feel my ribs. I went from despising running to being one of those lunatics who went to the special shoe store and carried a stick of body glide in case I decided to go for a spontaneous half-marathon run. It was a complete transformation, and for the most part, it was the best thing that ever happened to me.

I say “for the most part,” because there was one area of my life that seemed to get worse and worse as my fitness got better and better — my ...

... marriage.

At first, there didn’t really seem to be much of a problem. My wife made small, seemingly innocuous statements like “I wish I had your motivation,” or “I’d love to do that and get my figure back.” Over time though, the statements grew more and more terse. She’d question why I “had to spend so much time on this silly obsession.” She’d complain when I tried to serve healthy options for dinner, and gripe that I didn’t spend as much time with her as I used to. If I tried to invite her to join me on a trip to the gym or a jog around the block, she’d get angry and defensive.

Ultimately, we found a kind of equilibrium that allowed us to at least coexist. I shifted as many of my workouts as I could to times when she wasn’t at home, we made our own separate meals, and we generally didn’t talk about anything nutrition or fitness-related when we were together.

While this made things tolerable at home, it took its toll on our relationship and, in turn, our sex lives. We went from sex a few times a week to once a month, if I was lucky. I wanted more than that. Hell, I wanted more sex when it was happening two or three times a week, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. I still loved my wife, but her attitude and behavior left me feeling alone and isolated.

Thanks to working from home, along with a flexible schedule, I had been able to make time for exercise most weekday mornings after my wife left for work. It was like clockwork. At 7:40, she’d leave for work, and a few ...