Wednesday, September 1, 2010
"When it rains, I don't mind being lonely"
These song lyrics by the Eli Young Band took on a whole new meaning for me this week.
I checked the weather to see if the rain was going to clear up anytime soon, but there wasn't much hope in sight. I had my running shoes laced up and my metabolism had finally sped up (or slowed down) enough to where I had a small window to hauss this run out. I had fuel, I had gone the bathroom, and I didn't taste 'thirst.' I worried a little about the thunder and lightning, but figured my metal keys in the Nike pocket would be too small to yield a striking point. I sent my amiga a gchat letting her know that if I didn't return in an hour to call for help.
I set out on foot and enjoyed the fresh rainfall. I got a little creeped out noting that most of the population wasn't out and about on foot along the Trinity River where I was. I'm all for alone-time, but running through the brush made me have more of a feeling that I was being chased by a wild animal than out for a jog.
About five minutes in, I started noticing that I was not alone. As it turns out, the rain did not create the solitude I had originally been afraid of. Instead, I was met by a series of homeless people. Apparently they leave the brushy forest and come out to wander the jogging and bike paths. After reading recent press about a few homeless people jumpings (yes, whereby the homeless attack the exercisers) I got a little anxious. Instead of trotting along in a nice even pace, I found myself with a new speed-training program. I would sprint when in viewpoint of the homeless, and walk, sucking air when not. It was ridiculous, I know. But I bet you I was running a 6:30 mile during those sprints.
I have nothing against the homeless foresters who live along the Trinity. I would love to befriend them in all honesty, just not when I'm running from them.