I ran today. It was just a couple of miles on the treadmill, but it went pretty well. I have been having boy troubles, as in “boy, is my itbs bugging me or what?” (I refuse to capitalize it as to not deliver an inflated sense of importance.)
It still hurts like crazy when I walk after sitting for a while. Not sure what went wrong other than running in shoes that historically have caused problems and on surfaces that are a sure prescription for trouble. A mystery indeed. But once I start running, I’m OK. Is that a metaphor or what?
Mo and I ran together. She was using the video gizmo that puts her on a trail in Zion. I was watching “The Talk” on TV. Mo and I are the perfect couple except that our genders are slightly confused.
What’s the answer? A year on the treadmill? Maybe. I guess it could be worse. No good places to run here anyhow, and this is more promising for staying injury-free. And I suppose trail races will seem even more glorious after weeks of monotony.
Driving home, we saw a guy walking by the road. I asked Mo if she thought he was a surfer dude or a homeless guy. Is there a difference? she replied.
That’s the way it feels with me sometimes. And I’m not even sure what that means. Except that even when I can’t run, I need to run. It’s home.
Surf’s up …