See what I did there? I was going for a jazzy kind of thing, like in “I Get a Kick Out You” when Louis Armstrong sings, “I get no kick from cocaine! If I took a sniff it would bore me terrif’…”
That by way of introduction to a Running Commentary post. I have not been running very much lately and in fact did not intend to run today. I felt too tired and my legs felt stiff. Then I thought my legs might feel less stiff if I exercised them. Maybe a nice walk, I thought. I have been working on my feet for the past two (ten-hour) days, but pacing between machines is not the same as taking a walk. Then I thought, oh what the hell, and got into running clothes. I did not have to run for a long time, I reasoned. Twenty minutes, half hour tops. After all, I was rebuilding. And I almost never at any time run very fast.
Today I ran even slower than usual. It was a shuffle, it was a plod. I figured anybody looking at me might think, “I can do better than that!” and thus be encouraged to reach their own fitness goals. But I kept going. I wondered if there were any 5K’s around here in the near vicinity. Could I run 5 kilometers? Did I want to run in a 5K? The answers to the last two questions were yes, and no. But I kept going.
As I was running down Caroline Street, I noticed a kid on a bicycle a couple of blocks ahead of me. Was that the chubby-legged swine that gave me the finger when I was running some time ago? Yes, I remember petty little insults from long ago, although I try not to dwell on them. I don’t think it was the same kid. In any case, he was far enough and headed further away from me that I did not have to worry about further insults, if any.
It was not particularly difficult to run, but it wasn’t much fun either. I wondered how long I should run for. Maybe less than 20 minutes? No, I could make it for 20. More than 20? Let’s not push it. I passed a guy sitting on his porch with his feet up. I would certainly rather be doing that, but I could not share that thought with the guy, because he was talking on a cell phone. I like to interact with people as I run by. I ran by a little kid on a bicycle with training wheels.
“Hey, buddy, will you give me a ride home on the handlebars? I’m small!”
His mother chuckled. Of course it was a joke: I know I am not particularly small, especially where I sit. I started to chuckle myself, picturing my fat butt fitting on those little handlebars. If I didn’t break the bike, which was likely to happen and not likely to be funny.
I ended up running for 22 minutes, my favorite number. For once my cool-down walk did not feel terrific (terrif’?). However, I ran, I wrote a blog post about it. I’m calling that win on Tired Tuesday.