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Photo by Gail Harvey, no reproduction without permission
Why We Close Our Eyes When We Run Listening to: Garbage, Black Eyed Peas, Tom Jones
While I cannot describe myself as a runner by official standards, I have, since moving to the County especially, come to appreciate the absolute relief of a good run after a snowfall.
Although I concede to the proper footwear, I do run in jeans and a hoodie, ghetto style, because to change into the full costume would likely put me off before I even got going. [See Jann Arden's hilarious blog about wrestling herself in and out of a running bra for further proof of the arduous bs that is the running costume.]
If there is anything Man has done for us regarding technology, it has to be the ipod, a reluctant runner's best friend. Mix the right mix and you're off like a rocket, or maybe like a slow-arcing jet-stream, but you can do it. Personal trainer not required, provided the build is right and the temperature finally complies. For some people, church provides this feeling, for others, its a night of soothing bad sitcoms, and well, sometimes, you just have to hit the road and leap over the icy bits and close your eyes and run to the music. I'm delighted that my guts no longer twist themselves into a knot after six seconds of fast running. In fact, they have never been happier than when the slight incline begins and my legs are full of blood and electricity. While power-walking is actually my prefered mode of exercise, sometimes a good short fast run is just the ticket, under the moon, or the not-moon. Some subscribe to beta-blockers: I subscribe to bullshit blockers.
Thank you for this run tonight. The legs to make it happen, the heart that pumps it possible. Time for a shower and a return to the book I can't stop reading...
Listening to: The Sweetest Thing, U2
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