Yes It's Cold, But I'm Still Running
It has been a cold October, even by Minnesota standards. The temperature read 26 this morning, and I'm betting it wasn't much warmer last night as the tots of the world wrapped themselves in their scariest best and begged for candy.
Still, I've had an unusually lazy week, despite a mid-week visit by the girlfriend that resulted in much sweaty sex (shhhhh, I may be falling for her). I ran five miles on Sunday and I did two hours of hapkido Tuesday night, but that's been about it. I was feeling guilty about my lazy approach to the week, but I still opted for a two hour nap last night after work.
I wrestled free from my bed's warm embrace at 7:30, cursing myself for my snooze button addiction. I hurriedly donned my warm running outfit, strapped myself with my mp3 player, and ventured outdoors. And it was fucking cold! Holy balls! Determined to head off hypothermia and/or frostbite, I started running at an unusually fast clip.
About a mile into my jaunt, I acclimated to my cold surroundings, and my body started generating enough heat to activate a few sweat glands. With warmth taking control of my body, I was able to look around and fully appreciate my Halloween run.
Vehicles loaded with eager children, decked out in costumes they no doubt obsessed over for the last three weeks, ambled from door to door, with a parent behind the wheel wearing the obligatory multi-colored clown wig. Older children, more experienced when it came to the art of trick or treating, went door-to-door without parents, loading their bags with enough sweets to make Willy Wonka puke for hours.
Three miles into my run, I felt something smack the dead center of my back. I wasn't sure what it was, and I was too intent on my run to really give it much thought, so I kept on running. By this time, my whole body was damp with sweat, so stopping would have been monumentally stupid because it would have given the perspiration the excuse it needed to freeze. I had flashbacks to the Loony Toons St. Bernard with the cask of rum under the neck trying to thaw me out. No thank you. Must keep running.
After completing my five mile jaunt, I walked the final two blocks to the house, my entire body steaming in the crisp Minnesota air. I walked into the kitchen and removed my sweatshirt, only to discover an egg yolk in the direct center of the back.
Trick or treaters can be such fuckers.
Dark Knight. Heath Ledger. Batman. The Joker. Dark Knight. Heath Ledger. Batman. The Joker. Dark Knight. Heath Ledger. Batman. The Joker.
Posted by Ryan at November 1, 2002 10:17 AM
Stumble It!
