This afternoon, since it was only 90 degrees, it seemed a good time to catch up on some overdue yard work.
It was either that or ride my bike. I should have ridden my bike.
So I spent three-and-a-half hours trimming hedges, pulling weeds out of the shrubs and then raking up the annoying leaves and stalks and sticky, thorny, scratching weeds and vines.
And somewhere, on my third wind, I decided “Since I am already sweating, and my heart rate is up, this would be a good time for a run.”
Because the day was getting long, and I was ready for some exercise, and I equate sweat with exercise, this all seemed like a good idea. So I got finished with the stupid bags of trimmings and then decided to trim some trees. Now I’m covered in sweat and sawdust. I changed shoes and shorts and said “I’m going out for a quick run,” which is always a vague description. If you feel good, feel good and extend yourself, I say. And I felt pretty good.
I found and returned a miniature schnauzer to her owners. Called the number on her collar and stayed with the pup until they showed up. She is 13, they said, and know how it goes, but she was a good piece away from home. The pause gave me some more rest, so I felt good. And I kept running.
When I got to 3.1 miles I had a choice to make: continuing around the circle means a route of about eight miles, retracing my steps means I’d have a nice 10K. This felt like the best idea, until about mile four. The last two miles, to get home and to get to the 10K, or 6.2 mile mark, was something of a struggle.
I do not know what is happening.
But I picked a wildflower for my lovely bride! And I’m sure I looked a sweaty sight, shuffling down the road side with a bright yellow flower in my left hand, huffing and puffing for all I was worth.
When I got home she said that we define “quick” differently. This is true. There’s nothing quick about a six mile run for me.
I wrote all of this on Facebook. A buddy asked “How’s that spandex fitting Superman?”
Hence the title, above.
