sand in the private parts

The run starts out innocently enough. I’m on the little 1/3 mile loop on the bayfront. The beach is deserted because of the wind. I don’t mind because it’s just short stretch of wind out, tailwind back. Repeat as necessary.

I’m gliding along, just trying to stay sub-12.

And then.

A couple is having sex at the turnaround.

What to do?

I avert my eyes and pretend they’re not there. I make the turn and head back, assuming now that they’re busted they’ll move along. Or not.

When I come back, they’re still going at it. Do we as a society have no shame anymore? I’m amazed. Not to mention sand in the private parts. Ick.

I contine on. I’m running with Anton Figg, who seems to be the perfect partner these days. I’m not sure why he works so well while Oggi Tartufo is feely. Maybe it’s a natural environment thing? Beats me. I’m just going with it. But minimalist definitely feeling better on this course. We shall see.

By the next time around, they appear to be done. They’re just standing there, staring at me. Like it’s my fault. I shrug, make the turn and continue on.

I finish 2 miles at sub-12. It’s sort of hard because of the wind, but OK otherwise. Legs tired in a good way.

As I walk off the course, they’re still strutting around. Whatever.

I hate seagulls in mating season …

About gary

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