I had an introspective, depressing bit that I’d worked out on this evening’s run. But who the heck wants to start a weekend that way? (Maybe Monday). Then I had a flash of Brogan (self-improvement), but, due to obvious personal flaws (like an inability to write down and act on good ideas), that moment passed.
So, we’re stuck with an ode to old girlfriends and the sports with which I associate them. Possibly in verse. But first, a bit of admin:
Tonite’s run: slightly over 4 – looped the peninsula at Bluff Point clockwise. Beautiful, as always. Felt graceful over the rocks, which really put a huge and positive light on the evening. (The depressing bit was going to riff off of Jerry Jeff Walker’s song, “Backslider’s Wine” – if you haven’t listened to JJW, head right out and buy/steal/borrow “Viva Terlingua” which was recorded way back in the ’70’s – JJW was one of “the boys” as in “Waylon and Willie and the boys” – and captures a slice of Texas that I fear is largely gone forever; buried under a slide of strip malls and designer homes)
Best part of the run was rounding the corner where you get your first view of Fischer’s Island Sound – this is the “Bluff”. It’s only about 20-30′ off the water, but it was hazy tonight, and it reminded me of running along the cliffs on the North/West side of Point Loma in San Diego – just the sense of height over the water, and the illusion of flight.
Worst part of the run was intestinal trouble. Yeah. Nothing major, just the stuff that I get after a couple of days of not eating well or running. Running kind of shakes up and compacts everything, and my body says “Hey, if we’re going to be doing, like, exercise, I’m going to drop some of this off.” So, I ended up walking the last quarter mile to be safe…
Neat detail that I’d missed to this point was the Outhouses. Or “recycling toilets” as the signs inside call them. Anyhow, I was sitting on one of them, and marveling at how they didn’t have any of the standard outhouse stench. As a matter of fact, they smelled pretty darn fresh. Then I started noticing that there was airflow into the pothole, and heard some sort of whirring noise that I suppose I’d always associated with the transformer nearby, or maybe the airport. THEN, I remembered that both of the outhouses had solar panels on top of them. Using four years of engineering education, I deduced that these were high speed, low drag outhouses that used solar power to run a fan that sucked air out of the poop pit and up a chimney, replacing said air with the air in the house, which was continually refreshed by the drafty design of said house.
Great scott, I’ve still got insight to provide. First:
Strong disclaimer: The best part about sports is that they don’t get jealous if you continue to pursue old loves. My wife is not a jealous woman, nor does she need to be.
OK, here goes:
Cycling/Melissa
two loves of my life
effortless ease while together
maintenance on the side
Running/Sarah
On roads, on trails, or on track,
For passion we never lack,
When she’s in the mood,
I am her dude,
But commitment makes us both hack.
Swimming/Wesley
(I should write a sonnet – formal, rule bound, and difficult. Always at her place. But it’s late, and, as you all know, I’m often lazy.)
Anyone else up for bad poetry?