Walk this way, walk this way
Walk this way, walk this way
Ah, just give me a kiss
— the prophet tyler

I realized today i have NEVER listened to Aerosmith’s first album. I have no idea how this happened. I graduated high school with “Get Your Wings.”  “Toys in the Attic” was the soundtrack for my freshman year in college. “Rocks” blaring at Combest’s apartment when I executed a perfect drunken tackle on Weber as he naively walked through the front door. But somehow I never heard the first album. Spotify wasn’t that popular back then.

For the record (see what I did there?), it’s pretty good. I probably wasn’t ready for it in 1973 anyhow. 45 years later, I discover it’s never too late to blow out the tattered remains of your hearing.

This came about because I was at the track today strolling. The legs decided today was a day off. So I was walking. This way. Which led me, of course, to Aerosmith and the song that led me on the quest to survive Introduction to Accounting. Sadly, I’m shy, so the introduction didn’t go well.

When one’s legs are pooped, is it better to stroll or take the day off and hope for a strong day to follow? Does sidling set me back or just stretch the legs? I’m not experienced enough in Gary 2.0 to know the answer to this. But it was such a nice day again that I hung out for a while in lane 9 just in case. One field goal kicker, couple football players, a mortal in lane 1. Kinda dull.

Am I better off walking a bunch of 15-minute miles or running as hard as I can for 3? That one still bugs me. I’m not sure what’s the best ending for the Third Act. Which do I enjoy more? I have found that 5Ks are not as much fun as I remember. The quaint little community runs of the past have been replaced with FundRaiser Events For a Good Cause. Medals? That’s so embarrassing. And the $35 entry fee works about to 18 dollars per kilometer. Did I mention I flunked out of accounting.

A hard 5K or a 12-hour stroll? So different, and yet the same. It looks like I’ll have a day off each week when Mo’s working, so I could do big miles once a week. I doubt The Prophet Fleshman would mind. I don’t know. “It’s only time,” the prophet Clark said, “and only time will tell.”

Either way, the daily outing is what I live for. I finish, prop up my feet and wait for the next day like a kid on Christmas eve.

“The walking of which I speak has nothing in it akin to taking exercise, as it is called, as the sick take medicine at stated hours …but it is itself the enterprise and adventure of the day,” Thoreau said. I know what he means. It’s not what I do. It’s who I am, for better or worse, till death do us part.

“I started running ultras to become a better person,” the prophet Shelton once said. “I thought if you could run 100 miles you’d be in this Zen state. You’d be the Buddha, bringing peace and a smile to the world. It didn’t work in my case. I’m the same old punk-ass as before, but there’s always hope.”

I have no idea what I’m doing these days. All I know is that it IS the enterprise and adventure of the day. It’s what I do. Everything else is just stuff.

A lousy day, a time to contemplate, a chance to dream. I don’t know what’s down the road. One way to find out. Fire up “Toys in the Attic,” head out for another one tomorrow.

I’m the same old punk-ass as before. But there’s always hope. Never too late to blow out those tattered remains …