It’s just another run. You probably had one recently. Out and back. No wind, no epiphanies, no packs of rabid dogs. Just another run.
It’s hot and humid and I lost the Trail Monkey. I’m listening to the shuffle, which seems to be stuck on a mix of Sparklehorse and Lisa Loeb, two places you don’t want to be when looking for motivation.
Work has been hard, so this hour is my purge of the day. I run along the seawall (gulf wall? bay wall?) and people-watch. Two old guys are staring at the engine of a mid-’70s Chevy Nova. A bunch of high school students sit on the beach steps. I have no idea how they could’ve gotten that sunburned in one day. Crazy Homeless Guys, couples, pretend fishermen. I love the rhythm of the beach.
I’ve been running here for a couple of weeks and like it a lot. There are a lot of runners and walkers, and the company feels good. There is much sidewalk, but I’ve developed a series of detours to maximize the dirt. And bathrooms along the way! Life of luxury.
I run to the L where the yacht club resides as the turnaround for the day. A sign informs me that I cannot wash my clothes here unless I am a member. I am not, so I resist the urge. Shrimping season is ending (did it start?) so the guys are winding down. I pretend to belong.
The run home takes too long. I end up with 5.2 miles at a 12:50 pace and that’s good enough. It’s hot, I’m tired, Lisa Loeb is annoying.
As I run through the First Baptist Church parking lot, Ani announces that she’s 32 flavors and then some. I don’t think the Baptists would approve.
I shut off the watch and stroll the last quarter or so. My heart rate is high, my shirt is smelly, my Trail Monkey is living a bohemian lifestyle somewhere on the beach, my outlook for the evening is bleak. All is right in the world.
It’s just another run.
You lost the trail monkey? Guess that means I have to actually make that sock money I promised you a year and a half ago.
PS Great run.
Sock Monkey! I dont have money in my socks 😦
now i really have my heart set on some homemade sock money.
I got nuttin.
Those kids on the beach must be spies from Ohio. Irish spies from Ohio.
I love good depressing running musings. You beat me to it- I have a post draft on nearly the same subject. Running. And depression. COMBINED!
DEPRESSING??? This was supposed to be cheery and life-affirming. harumph.
But… But you lost your trail monkey! Isn’t that..? Wait… Does that not mean what I think it means? I can’t keep up with you kids and your lingo.
OMG YOU LOST THE TRAIL MONKEY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I AM SERIOUS!!! I BOUGHT IT AT BELLEVUESQUR IN THE 1930s…