So this is the new year
And I have no resolutions.
— the prophet benjamin gibbard
It’s the first day of the year. Mo says she’s opting out and embracing Chinese New Year instead. Year of the tiger. Insert Calvin and Hobbes metaphor here.
I was running around the dog loop today, thinking about the race I was supposed to be finishing right about now. It’s butt cold, and I’m remembering why I never much liked to run it anyhow. What kind of crazy people stage a race in sub-60 temperatures? A triumphant return morphs into a couple of laps in the cold, another 170 bucks down the drain. I’m thinking we should move to the desert to get away from this icy weather. Someday.
When I was a kid, Ma would make us eat a black-eyed pea for good luck on New Year’s Day. She had no reason to suspect COVID back then, I suppose. I always hated those things, but I loved Ma, so I dutifully continued the tradition over the years.
We were too scared to go into the store for provisions today, so we opted for the Wendy’s drive-thru and a Medium Chocolate Frosty instead. This could be a new tradition.
How does one look back or look ahead these days? An endless series of “it’s not as bad as it was” sitting next to “I wonder if it’s going to get worse.” How would one make resolutions in these times?
And so I just lean on the lessons I’ve learned from running over the years.
■ Run the mile you’re in. Don’t worry about next week or next month. Just make it through the weekend.
■ Stop looking at the watch and run by feel. It’s all arbitrary anyhow.
■ Never take your run or your health or your best friend or your cat for granted. You never know. Stretch often; hug more.
■ If you have to walk, walk like you mean it. This could be the best life metaphor ever.
■ Life is like a 24-hour run. There is no DNF. You just stop at some point. And that’s alright. If you have to cross the rainbow bridge, we’ll be OK. Wait for us on the other side.
■ Eat more Frosties. You can never have too much good luck.
So this is the new year …