They say you can never go Home...

Soldiers of Sparta were allowed to return home after lost battles, only if carried dead upon their shields. I'm convinced this is a more practical and time-saving way to go about it.

Monday, June 07, 2004

On Running

I like to run, and frequently do so at night. It isn’t only the oppressive, slavish Florida heat, which causes one to sweat, Naked-At-School-in-a-Dream-Style, that makes night-running my preference. Rather, it is a feeling of speed which I imagine I am better able to achieve whilst under the sexy, sheer fabric of a nighttime backdrop. It’s sort-of an enhanced proprioception, which is otherwise totally shot to hell under the harsh light of daytime. The usual orchestras of cicadas and crickets, endlessly warming-up their string sections, do provide some company, and the rhythmic throbbing of the golf course sprinklers serve as a metronome for my dirty old nikes, as they pound the ground (alternating grass and pavement).

Actually, im Wahrheit, the thing that running at night grants me is the ability to keep my pride intact.

There is, firstly, this business of my running cadence, which I imagine to be rather rough and loping, rather like a mental patient running from his next shot of thorazine in the butt cheeks. Secondly, the nighttime cover allows me to wear some pretty heinous t-shirts—-the kinds that I have no business wearing, as I do not meet the Bicep size minimum required to wear them. (And please don’t make fun. They make me run faster. Also, have I mentioned it’s bloody hot here?)

Anyhow, a few nights back, I went running, just before sunset. I started earlier than usual, as I was attempting to replace the Cacophony of fear and self-recrimination of the day (What the hell am I really doing here?), with the White Noise of physical exhaustion. I was just getting to the point where I was hitting a second wind, closer to the river.

As I was approaching the climax of a runner’s high, I promptly aspirated a bug. Rather, it would be more accurate to say that a bug dive-bombed my uvula, kamikaze-style. The damn thing flew directly into my gag zone, and became lodged.

And I did what any person in an ill-fitting muscle tee, with a bug lodged in the throat would do. I very noisily threw up in someone’s bushes.

The punchline here is, I don’t really know what. Except I’ve always had a low-grade fear of large insects flying into my mouth, and now a really significant one has, and it’s okay.

So, I’ve decided that everything will be okay, despite that I’m living at home at 26, but feeling like I’m sixteen. And my mom still closes my shades for me at night.

We will deal with that one tomorrow.