running with baby huey

Mo’s off teaching kindergarten kids how to draw elephants. I’m off running like one.

I’m on the Cole Park loop on a dark, windy day. It’s the kind of gloom people must feel in the Northeast, except it’s warm and I don’t have to listen to annoying accents. Well, I do, but they’re OUR annoying accents, so that’s OK.

I’ve been going back the the 2 minute run/1 minute walk mambo for the last week or so, and it seems to be working OK. My pace is actually faster than a steady trot, and the intervals make the miles go by easily. We’ll see. Long stretch of dirt, climb, sidewalk, down to the dirt again. Repeat as necessary.

Not much happens. It’s a quiet Monday at the park. A few families, some punk rockers (there are still punk rockers?),  a pack of deranged gulls and a crazy guy in an old pickup who I assume will be on a killing rampage later in the day. I’m working West Coast papers today, so I have no particular interest.

Some days a run is just a run. No epiphany, no joy, no secrets of life revealed. Just a mile, another mile, a third mile, go home. I run along in silence, listening to that noise. I like the Altra Olympi a lot, but for whatever reason that make a whump whump sound. I drift along the sidewalk trying to think of what it sounds like, when it hits me. It’s the sound of a Huey helicopter. I don’t recall ever hearing a Huey helicopter, but if I had I’m quite certain this would be the sound. I’m running in Baby Hueys. I’m not sure that’s a positive trait in a shoe.

But my legs love them, they were brilliant on the trail Saturday, and they don’t ask me for spare change. What more can you ask in a shoe?

My mind wanders but never gets too far away from home. Maybe it’s just too tired from all the thinking over the weekend. There’s something to be said for the autopilot switch.

I finish up the run and listen to the sports talk guys debate gay NFL players as I drive home. Dear God please let me live long enough that being gay in the NFL no longer is news amen. I get home in time to see Mo, who is unloading her paints from the car. The kindergarten kids were great. They nailed the elephants perfectly. I realize I can’t draw an elephant. Damn kids.

And that  was my run. No epic poems, no celebrity sightings, no endorphin rush. Just a run. That’s enough.

Damn. Now I gotta learn to draw an elephant …

About gary

no sock monkeys were harmed in the making of this blog.
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