I went running for 35 minutes today, and when I got back, sweat dripping in my eyes, face the color of my neighbor’s ripe tomatoes, Darth Vader (my husband, for those of you playing along) asks the usual, “How’d it go?”
I’m almost 100% certain that he normally doesn’t listen for the answer, but today I came back with more than the obligatory, “Fine.”
“Well, I have, like, six stories. Which one do you want to hear first?”
“Six stories?”
“Yes! That’s, like, a story every almost every five minutes! (I am a mathematical genius.) Where shall we start?”
For you, I will begin with the good news. The beginning of my run was dream-like - - especially for a person like me, who’s only partially committed and who usually can’t wait for the run to be over about five minutes after it begins. My love/hate relationship with running doesn’t just “run” deep, there are grooves and twists and turns that no normal person should have when it comes to putting one foot in front of the other. Basically, I am a head case, but that topic is for another time.
I attribute the awesomeness of the first mile partially to my new shoes and partially to Katy Perry - - for serious. First off, I don’t know if it’s all in my head or what, but a new pair of kicks can sustain me for a good couple of weeks of great runs. I mean I’m sure that a part of it is definitely real. My old shoes were over a year old, and the tread was worn thin from I don’t know how many miles on the road and treadmill. Darth Vader a new pair every 500 miles. This means that he gets a new pair of shoes about four times a year. That’s insane, right?
Good. I’m glad we agree.
I might, with very, very strong emphasis on that “might,” get 500 miles in a year’s time. At any rate, be it part physical or part mental, new shoes make running more fun . . . and more comfortable.
Now for Katy Perry. I’m hot and cold about her (ha-ha) in general, but I must confess that I listened to “Wide Awake” on repeat FOUR times at the beginning of my run today. I kept telling myself that I just wanted to remind myself to wake up and just get this over with, but I think it’s a little more than that. I’ll spare you my analysis of the pop star’s lyrics in relation to my life, but I am happy to report that I hit the first mile in 10:19, which for me is sprinting (Stop rolling your eyes, fest runner people. I see you!), so thank you, Katy. I think your song automatically makes it to my greatest hits running playlist.
Okay, so that was one and two of my six stories. Now for three, four, five and six, which are really just one story. I exaggerate sometimes for effect. That’s called hyperbole. There’s your English lesson for today.
So I hit 10:19 on the first mile and then things go back to normal. I stop listening to Katy, the sun starts to bacon fry my skin, and I slow down some, but it’s all good. I’m checking out other people’s landscaping ideas, or lack thereof, breathing comfortably, fast approaching mile two, when I can no longer hear my music clearly because a ferocious, hairy black beast is barking its ample head off and bounding the span of its front yard headed right toward me.
“Well, everybody in this town has an electric fence,” I think.
Dumb ass.
I dart to the right. I hear continued barking. I see big, white incisors.
I stop and put my hands up like it’s a hold up at a freaking gas station. Behind me, the dog nips my calves.
I picture myself being mauled in the middle of the street. (I think there were vultures picking at my entrails in my vision. Clearly, I’ve read too much mythology. Thank you, Prometheus.)
I try not to make eye contact. I keep my hands up. I say, “Nice doggie,” (what is up with that??). I’m sure the thing smells the fear oozing out of my pores . . . but it doesn’t eat me. It’s a miracle!!
So I obviously survived the ferocious beast of my neighborhood, but I’m a little shaken. This has happened before, and I still haven’t educated myself or made the commitment to put to memory what I should do if it happens again. Suggestions are definitely appreciated!
Six stories in 35 minutes of time - - some great, some a little scary. It’s not always that exciting every time, and some may say that I would’ve avoided my potential demise by canine had I just stayed at home, but I can assure you that being out there is better than any of the excuses that I can normally come up with to stay at home. What’s today’s motivation to get out there again? Maybe a nicely crafted “make sure your dog is on lockdown” letter to tape to my neighbor’s mailbox. It could make for another good story.
