So yesterday I ran my last run before THE RUN, before the half marathon on Saturday, and it got me thinking about all the weird encounters running has brought me, as well as all the weird shit running has made me do.
Sometimes I run on my treadmill, which is in my downstairs bedroom, and sometimes I watch Parks & Rec while running on that treadmill and I dance run through the opening because I don’t know if you know this, but the Parks & Rec song is maybe one of the most fun songs ever to dance along to on a treadmill. I’m sure I look like a crazy person doing it, like usual, but especially because I’m usually wearing some ridiculous combination of clothing items that I probably wouldn’t wear out of the house, but will wear in the comfort of my own home, on my own treadmill where there’s no one to giggle at me except for me. The judging eyes of the dogs and cats has not – and will not – deter me.
Also, I was recently explaining the crazy neighbors up the street to a few friends, and I realized I’m a massive hypocrite in calling them crazy. See, I’ve never actually met these people, but they are super hipsters (not that there’s anything wrong with that) who have a hammock hanging in their living room (What? I can see it when it’s dark out. From the road. When I’m driving past. I promise I have not been sneaking around and peeking into their home). I mostly decided they were crazy because I caught the super skinny white dude who lives there doing sun salutations in his front yard, half on the sidewalk, half in the yard and it just kind of freaked me out, because we all have backyards here and I’m not sure why he wouldn’t do that in the backyard and not the front yard, but then I found myself stretching post-run in front of my own house, huffing and puffing and grunting and I decided that probably I should just mind my own damn business and stop being a judgmental asshole. If people want to partake in yoga, or post-run stretching or ballad preaching in their front yards, they can do what they please because this is AMERICA, land of honey badgers.
And then recently, on one of my long runs, about 3 miles in I run past this dude looking into some trash cans. For context, I’ll tell you that it was a beautiful 60 degree day, and that I was wearing cropped running tights, a t-shirt and my iPhone arm band thing and carrying a bottle of water. As I ran toward him the dude squinted at me and then yelled “YOU GOT ANY CHANGE?!?!” which made me jump because I wasn’t expecting him to actually speak to me and yelled back “NO!” because really dude? You think I’ve got a quarter on me right now? And then I felt like an asshole for rolling my eyes at a dude who was probably, most likely homeless and maybe a little crazy, but dude, I’m running.
Lastly, on the topic of crazy running adventures, I’m pretty sure I was almost murdered on a recent run in Alabama. There I was, running up this little hill coming out of this tree-lined area on the outskirts of Andrew’s area, by myself, because Andrew was at work doing helicopter-pilot-in-training things. I ran past two hoodlums and as I passed they got quiet, and then I heard one of them say “she’s small,” and then they got real quiet and I was afraid to look behind me at them and I don’t think I’ve ever run so fast in my life.
At work the other day we were talking about places that give military discounts and I said I almost always go to Lowe’s because they always give me a 10% discount, whereas Home Depot likes to tell me they only do that on Memorial Day and Veteran’s Day or some shit. Everyone told me I just had to argue with the Home Depot people because they do give the discount all the time, they just like to be dicks about it, which, in the land that is my life, I just don’t have time for. I said that instead of asking for a manager or arguing with them, I prefer to overreact say things like “how’s it feel to hate America?” or “well I’m glad I fight for your freedom so you can not give me a discount” or “that’s weird – military members protect your freedom 365 days out the year.”
Mostly I just don’t go to Home Depot.
Weird things seem to bring immense joy to the cats. The dogs love walks and outside and rawhides and those are all expected things, I think, for dogs to love, but the cats love weird shit, especially boxes. This apparently is not specific to my loony toons, but is a cat thing that seems fairly common, although the wild cats have shown absolutely no interest in any boxes I’ve put on the front porch, not even the empty recycling bin, which my cats circle and chip at as if it were a great and incredible lost artifact of Catlantis.
I don’t understand it, but box sitting makes them so, so happy. So do chin scratches.
I was grumpy for the first half of my birthday, for a lot of silly reasons. It was the first time I’d ever woken up to an empty house, and I knew I’d be going to sleep in an empty house too and that made me sad. I missed Andrew something fierce, and then I couldn’t find the flight deal I wanted and everything seemed like A LOT, but then I got over it, went home, went to yoga, LET IT GO, and then met some of my favorite ladies for nachos & beers & chicken wings at one of my favorite Richmond establishments. Later, another lady friend showed up at the bar and from there we headed out for frozen yogurt and a nightcap. It was perfect and I was once again so incredibly thankful for the women I’ve managed to collect as friends.