50 minutes on Saturday; 30 minutes this morning. Rt. knee stiff, left ankle wonky.
On most of my runs these days, The Girlie comes along for the ride in her spiffy red convertible. Frequently, she and I are joined by another companion. He’s a nice guy– friendly, deferential, and supportive, he applauds all of my efforts and congratulates me for every step. He looks just like me, less about 30 pounds: his jaw is square, his eyes clear, his ribs and muscles are all visible, and his waist connects straight into the top of his shorts. Mostly, though, he just rides a little higher than me: he’s fit, firm, disciplined, and organized. One of those running partners who is obviously faster, who covers every one of my surges, who cruises to the top of every hill, who has lots of gas in the tank at the end of each run, and who always has plenty of breath to talk along the way. And since he’s right on my shoulder, I can’t help but listen.
He talks about Chicago and Boston, about running to races in the city, about Cherry Blossoms and Philly, about running hills at the zoo, about solo 10K’s at Hains Point, about mid-week early morning 14′s before walking his wife home from her night shift, and about eating giant burritos, stacks of turkey sandwiches, and huge plates of cheese-laden pasta. Plus big desserts.
I wish I could get him to just run on ahead, or to take a different (longer) route, but he seems to enjoy tagging along. I’d let him push the stroller, but I think he’d be overwhelmed by the challenges, and underwhelmed with the triumphs of my Girlie.