you never can tell. oh, well.

you’re running along on the hasselhoff. beautiful day. slight breeze. No more Elf Shirt after  an unfortunate mishap with the cat box, so you’re stench-free. Two miles come and go effortlessly. It’s a perfect run. You hit the Surfing Jesus manhole cover to turn around.

And then.

A sharp pain on the bottom of the right foot. Feels like something broke in the arch area. Dammit. You think maybe it’s just a little nagging pain. it’ll go away. But it doesn’t. You fool around with different strides and landings. Still there. Contemplate shoes. These are new, and the old ones were the same model and never caused problems. The pain doesn’t get worse, but it doesn’t get better. It just is.

You keep running, because that’s what runners do. You listen to Eels to drown out the pain. Nobody is more painful than Eels. He’s singing a song trying to persuade Natalie not to kill herself. You suppose it’s all relative. And what’s his name? E? Is that even a name?

You arrive home. You take off your shoes. Still hurts. Walk around living room. Hurts. Listen to E tell his dead sister it’s a motherfucker living here without you. Still hurts, but now you feel bad.

You go to work where you blissfully work 10 hours without getting out of your chair. As you leave, it hurts. Screwed. Damn Elf Shirt Evil Mojo. You worry, because that’s what runners do. 

It’s a motherfucker indeed.


About gary

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