First Run
(Day Thirty-Seven)
I went on my first run of 2014 today. I still can't believe I'm the kind of person who would type that sentence, but as I put on my bright green and pink running shoes, I felt sentimental about them.
"Hello, old shoe friends."
I ran very, very slow. Like so slow people could have probably walked and kept up with me. But that's not the point.
I met four people while I was running. The first was a white-haired gentleman with his camera, which had a long lens on the end. He came upon me as I was cleaning up Clyde's poop (awkward), and then later, when I passed him, he stopped me to point out the heron high up in the trees.
The next was a man standing in the brush along the side of the pond, fixing his fishing lure. He smiled and nodded as I passed the first time but then ignored me after that, which was fine with me. It's a lot of work to be social while red-faced and out-of-breath.
The next time I came around the loop, there was a third man sitting on the side of the path, holding his black lab mix as we passed. Clyde stopped to touch noses with the dog. When we passed them again on our third mile, the dog decided we weren't friends after all, barking and leaping against his leash. "It's the same dog," his owner told him. "It's the same dog."
And the last person I met was a girl in bright pink shorts and a striped shirt, maybe seven years old. As her dad and little brother fished, she ran up and down the path, chasing the geese into the water. I smiled at her as I ran by, and she ran alongside me for a few seconds, until she got self-conscious and turned back towards her dad.
It's dark now and the wind is blowing something against the deck. It's only Monday, and I feel tired already -- but I know tomorrow is going to be another warm day, something that seems a miracle after the long, long winter.
I went on my first run of 2014 today. I still can't believe I'm the kind of person who would type that sentence, but as I put on my bright green and pink running shoes, I felt sentimental about them.
"Hello, old shoe friends."
I ran very, very slow. Like so slow people could have probably walked and kept up with me. But that's not the point.
I met four people while I was running. The first was a white-haired gentleman with his camera, which had a long lens on the end. He came upon me as I was cleaning up Clyde's poop (awkward), and then later, when I passed him, he stopped me to point out the heron high up in the trees.
The next was a man standing in the brush along the side of the pond, fixing his fishing lure. He smiled and nodded as I passed the first time but then ignored me after that, which was fine with me. It's a lot of work to be social while red-faced and out-of-breath.
The next time I came around the loop, there was a third man sitting on the side of the path, holding his black lab mix as we passed. Clyde stopped to touch noses with the dog. When we passed them again on our third mile, the dog decided we weren't friends after all, barking and leaping against his leash. "It's the same dog," his owner told him. "It's the same dog."
And the last person I met was a girl in bright pink shorts and a striped shirt, maybe seven years old. As her dad and little brother fished, she ran up and down the path, chasing the geese into the water. I smiled at her as I ran by, and she ran alongside me for a few seconds, until she got self-conscious and turned back towards her dad.
It's dark now and the wind is blowing something against the deck. It's only Monday, and I feel tired already -- but I know tomorrow is going to be another warm day, something that seems a miracle after the long, long winter.