I’m only slightly thick in the head, but there is a gremlin-ish energy in the air as I prepare for my run. It occurs to me that this is not gonna be a comfortable 8 miles. This is gonna hurt.
A day like any other; Sunday morning… I’m tired, full of smoke and the effects of several beers from a bar the night before. I’m only slightly thick in the head, but there is a gremlin-ish energy in the air as I prepare for my run. It occurs to me that this is not gonna be a comfortable 8 miles. This is gonna hurt.
The day’s disposition makes itself plain as I break the pull-string on my shorts while dressing. (I really need to buy some new workout shorts… maybe after the run).
It’s gonna be one of those days, I can feel it. Like there is some evil minion mocking me… a little Welshy-hating demon that has drawn my assignment for today – an angry minion of darkness from a cosmically evil bureaucracy that draws random souls to harass.
I feel a stirring of “Quitter Welshy” and I briefly debate skipping the run. I beat him into submission (not hard, he’s a quitter). I will run. I debate putting on another pair of shorts, but the growing pile of workout laundry has a compost-like smell and heat – I feel more than see waves of funk emanating from the pile and there are no clean ones left. [.....]
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Dueling Banjos and the Mowing Minions of Darkness
I’m only slightly thick in the head, but there is a gremlin-ish energy in the air as I prepare for my run. It occurs to me that this is not gonna be a comfortable 8 miles. This is gonna hurt.
A day like any other; Sunday morning… I’m tired, full of smoke and the effects of several beers from a bar the night before. I’m only slightly thick in the head, but there is a gremlin-ish energy in the air as I prepare for my run. It occurs to me that this is not gonna be a comfortable 8 miles. This is gonna hurt.
The day’s disposition makes itself plain as I break the pull-string on my shorts while dressing. (I really need to buy some new workout shorts… maybe after the run).
It’s gonna be one of those days, I can feel it. Like there is some evil minion mocking me… a little Welshy-hating demon that has drawn my assignment for today – an angry minion of darkness from a cosmically evil bureaucracy that draws random souls to harass.
I feel a stirring of “Quitter Welshy” and I briefly debate skipping the run. I beat him into submission (not hard, he’s a quitter). I will run. I debate putting on another pair of shorts, but the growing pile of workout laundry has a compost-like smell and heat – I feel more than see waves of funk emanating from the pile and there are no clean ones left. [.....]
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