Running Commentary: #10

Running Commentary: #10
October 4, 2012--Sunday

     Laura went one-on-one with herself in lonely sidebars during the warm-up part of this Sunday's run. I didn't listen too carefully. Just stuff about being so tired because of a family garage sale yesterday. Her feet hurt. She didn't know if her legs would make it this morning. We call this condition the "Ya-Da-Ya-Da" song and just ask for consideration in keeping the volume turned low because, depending on the 'Yada's' mood, there can be many verses.

     We're rounding the home curve. Laura's mailbox, with water bottles perched on top, is in sight. We're working hard and sweat drenched as proof. The fist twenty minutes crossed off our hour and a half morning goal.

     This distance is as good as it's going to get for me. For the second time, I've had to scratch from the Marine Corp Marathon; just too hot to run the couple of needed twenty-training miles. Peter told me it was dumb to train for a marathon during a Texas summer anyway. But, the fingers of a Sagittarius are trping this message: If someone says it can't be done, that's an invitation to do it--or, as the years have accumulated--at least, try it.

     Try it, we did--like adding a long hill--going up about a mile; not down. The reasoning behind this morning test was, if we were really serious about running the IBM 10K, early October, we might as well get in a little simulation to bring out the stimulation. Half way up, these words were heard mixing it up with ragged breathing. "Laura, see that guy over there? He's passing us.: Laura kept her head down and plowed on. "Laura, look! He stopped. Not gonna happen to us." We hit a cross-street stop sign. I managed a "runners coming through." Eyes down, I noticed some spit on the street. This is kind of a runner's ritual thing. A few feet further, more spit. The guy's leading us home, I thought. If I could of mustered the extra breath, I would have burst into a chorus of an original gospel song--He's Leading Us Home. At least that's the way I felt when we got to the top--I'd reached heaven.

     Catch-breath-hydration-time over. From what I can remember, the next twenty minutes were over in a hurry--time spent talking about some Jamaican father claiming his Olympic running son was fast because of all the yams he ate. We wondered, what's the difference between a yam and a sweet potato? A lot! But, Google also told me the U.S. government has confused the whole situation by labeling our sweet potatoes, yams. This may turn out to be one of the hidden, underlying causes of our screwed up economy. If the government can cover up the true identity of yams, there's no telling what lengths they'll go to, keeping 'higher-archy' shenanigans from us.

     Then the subject jumped to the American Civil Liberties Union suing the State of Michigan over the low literacy rates in the public schools. The state's graduating their kids without knowing how to read! Who's to blame? What's to blame? It sure as heck isn't the teachers, according to Laura. Her breathing rhythm gets all out of whack when teachers are criticized; we dropped out of that topic after passing one mother pushing a baby stroller, two wobbly-legged baby deer, cars rubbernecking and us waving back.

     "See that cat up ahead?" I said.

     "Nope."

     "He's sitting in the street, with his paws on the curb--right by your mailbox."

     "I'm really hurtin'," said Laura.

     "Speed it up. Looks like he's praying us in to home base." There's nothing like the sight of a praying cat for motivation.

     Laura made it but didn't stop for a drink.  "Gotta take a bathroom break," she yelled and headed for her house.  Not much to say about that.  If you've gotta go; you gotta go.  Although a bathroom spot in-house, sure beats an outhouse. That final thought ended a Sunday successful run.