Running is my preferred mode of exercise. I [try to] like running for a variety of reasons. A few include: it makes me feel strong, it motivates me to push myself, it’s best done outside while appreciating the world around me, and I was told so many times as a kid that I “couldn’t run” [at least WELL] that I like to prove the haters wrong.
Last weekend, as I struggled to get into my running groove – my first mile is always sort of a pain in my ass – I encountered another soul on my route. Homeboy was not running, however, but instead was skateboarding. I was intrigued immediately. And my intrigue momentarily took my focus off the pain in my shins, so that was a welcome distraction for sure.
I thought to myself, “what an interesting mode of transportation.” I recognized shortly thereafter that Dude must despise Lawrence’s surprisingly hilly landscape. Maybe even more than me. However, the downhills clearly work much more to his advantage on wheels, than to mine on my own tired legs, but he really can’t appreciate the uphills. At all, really.
I admired Dude for a good couple of blocks. I found myself wishing I could pull off the “alternative” existence needed to justify commuting via skateboard. My vanilla persona wouldn’t exactly rock it. I also found myself feeling a strong sense of comraderie as we traveled down the same road in our own individual ways.
I was sweating. Dude was not. I was pushing myself to be stronger, faster and more ambitious. Dude seemed downright relaxed on his board.
Then Dude lit a cigarette. A cigarette! And, luckily, rolled on down the street. ARGH!