We’re like Romeo and Juliet
We’re like 40 dogs and cigarettes
We’re like good times that haven’t happened yet
— bob schneider
It’s a brutal run. Hot, humid, 17 mph headwind coming back. I’m not having fun.
A guy pulls up from behind and runs next to me. He’s the Crazy Homeless Guy I just passed on the trail a few minutes ago. He wants to bond.
Hey, I offer. Afternoon, he says. Looked like you were having fun, so I thought I’d join you.
I mentally shrug. Could be worse, I suppose. He could be a Triathlete. He’s running with a fishing pole in one hand and two 40-ounce malt liquors in a plastic bag in the other. A cigarette dangles from his mouth. He’s keeping up with me pretty comfortably. I suck.
Nice day, he says. I guess, I reply. Maybe he doesn’t notice the gale-force wind. OK, that was pretty much all the conversation I have.
Catch anything? I ask. Haven’t tried yet, he replies. Haven’t finished my beer. I wasn’t aware of fishing etiquette. Oh, I say. Well, good luck, I tell him, and put the hammer down, speeding up to a blistering 12-minute pace. He either falls off the back of the pack or stops for another cigarette. I don’t look back, so I don’t know.
I may have lost a step over the years. I may not be able to keep up with the gazelles. But dammit, I can still outrun a drunk, smoking guy packing a fishing pole and 40 ounces of booze. So there.
I bet Meb doesn’t have adventures like this …