Roads, Mills, Laps

Lots of f-bombs and other bad words ahead, but well worth it.

I’ll prove it.

derp dee derp dee didlie derp.

Good news!

No razor!

Finnish YMCA! (Is this George A. Custer’s karmic next life?)

10+ miles in the snow and freezing rain
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I played around with USATF’s route running tool tonight. I mapped out my 11+ miler that I log. It’s amazing because my distance instincts were correct on this one: I had guessed that it was over 11.5 miles and I was correct. (I’ve long since forsworn the Garmin and all other heads-up-display space junk–forever.)

In case you are around West Chester, give it a shot.

Hot damn, I just mapped out my 10+ run and found further reason not to need a piece of technology to measure distance!
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Some man (down on his luck, a bit crazy, his hair like Moses’ burning bush) stopped me mid-run tonight. He wore a blinking reflector vest like mine. He held a bag of empty bottles (presumably collected for 5 cents-per) and waited for the SEPTA bus to come and pick him up.

“Nice vest you got,” he said.

“You too,” I replied.

I stopped and looked up. The light was red. I tapped my watch. It beeped, telling me that my run was on hold.

There was an uncomfortable silence as he sized me up. I looked straight ahead.

Ah, there was my green light! Salvation. I made for the other side of the street, hurdling miniscule, Pennsylvania-sized snowbanks.

“Where’d you get it?” he hollered with cupped hands. I barely heard him.

Cars zipped by. The light in my direction turned red. Freshly deposited snow that once clung to the wheel wells of passing cars was being flung upon both of us

“Mail order!” I screamed over the din.

“Mine’s from a bike shop!” he hollered.

“Cool,” was all I could manage. I waved and turned; my legs pointed towards home.

I heard him reply. “Cool,” is what he said.

Both our vests blinked in unison. Was there a connection? Were we synchronized at that moment in time?

The bus came and picked him up. I turned one last time and looked back. He waved to me. I waved back. He walked to an empty seat and sat down, placing his bag of cans on his lap.

And then the bus accelerated and joined the rest of the traffic. He was gone in a flash.

I ran home.
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Hat tip to Chris
for this one.