The downside of running next to the bay is the constant threat of staging “Moby Dick: The Live Show.”
The even bigger threat is foolishly taking your shoes off when the thermometer is barely clinging to the low 50s.
OK, I’m a weather sissy. There. But I’m a desert boy. 110? I’m in. But this sub-60 stuff is nuts. And in all fairness, there was a wind blowing in off the water, sending the wind chill down to what must have been 280 below. It was cold enough that icicles formed in my Icee on the way home. So there. (Although I valiantly ran in shorts. OK, only because I have no idea where my tights are. Did I mention it never gets cold here?)
I remembered today why we’re able to run. We tend to forget past suffering. This works great when preparing for a marathon. (10 minutes after race “so help me i will never do that again” turns to 30 minutes later “so when does registration start for next year’s race?) But it doesn’t work so great with Clown Shoes.
My legs were a little feely today, so I traded in the 110s for the Clown Shoes. I hadn’t run in them for a long time, and they offer ridiculous padding, and I was going to do a lot of sidewalk, and right now the slot editor at work is cringing as the Force tells him somewhere in the universe someone is writing excessive compound sentences, and I thought this would give us a chance to bond.
A half mile into the run, I felt that rubbing sensation you get when something isn’t working right. Sitting down to take a peek, I noticed the long-forgotten blood stain on the left shoe. Oh, that’s right. They rub a hole in my foot. And they make my ITBS significantly unhappy. And small children laugh at me. On the bright side, they’re big enough that the whale has a hard time swallowing.
The park was pretty snoozy, as expected given the polar conditions. A kid on a go-kart (memories of the Smith Boy Kart and trying to explain to Ma how a tire mark across the chest isn’t a bad thing), a couple of other hardy runners, a lot of gulls with a “what the hell is this stuff?” look. Or maybe that was their “Yo, dude, gimme part of the Clif bar” look. Hard to tell with gulls. I wasn’t wearing my glasses.
A good day to be alive and running with a hole in my foot in a little park on the Southeast Coast of Texas in the United States of America on a little planet in the Milky Way. Now if I could just regain the feeling in my extremities …