Running (through my head)

Running (through my head):
0600 is early.
Where is my other shoe?
Why aren’t my shoes in the same place?
If I can’t find it quietly, I’m not gonna run.
That’s a cop out.
Dude, it’s cold. Why didn’t I pack a long sleeved… anything?
Raining. Yay! Rainy runs are great! I love the rain!
Glad this case is waterproof.
Go right this time.
Right, right right, all day long.
I should stop at that bakery after my run.
Seriously.
So, she’s actually a nun.
Oh crap, a roundabout. That was quick.

Right turn right turn run run run.
Love the designated running/walking/cycling lanes.
Are snot rockets rude if no one sees you blow them?
Why did I think sprints was a good idea?
Right turn right turn right turn…
If I could smell, would this run be different?
Great. I can smell that guy’s cigarette.
Thanks for answering that so quickly.
Why can I smell things like cigarettes and sautéed shallots and burnt garlic but not flowers and cupcakes and babies? Seriously.
Crap, a roundabout. Just run through it.
Run, run run, all day long. Right turns only…
Why is this song on my play list three times?
Why don’t I get up at 0600 to run in America?
Turn around. Seriously. You have to run all the way back too; don’t be a hero.
Is this uphill?
Was I running downhill?
Why does my right hip hurt?
Oh. Because you fell while navigating that swath of gravel even though you slowed down enough to stop and take a photo.

You might consider a running helmet.
People saw that, Grace.
Glad this case is shatterproof.
What is wrong with my gait?
Pay attention to your footfall; your calves and heels are gonna hurt. Remember Green. Village.
You should drop Ken a note.
That type of stone is slippery; watch out.
Dude. This is the left. Go left.
Oh look, a roundabout. This is the one I ran through…
There are American flags everywhere; do they disappear after June, I wonder?

Do I smell? Oh, dude. I stink and I can smell me. That shouldn’t excite me, but it does.

The big roundabout! Left turn!
Home stretch.
Holy crap; that’s a whole pig hanging in that truck. I haven’t seen meat displayed like that since Kabul!

Haha. The butcher thought I was taking HIS picture.
There’s that bakery again. I really want a protein shake.
Dude. Wait.
This bridge was yesterday’s photo stop.
I’ve passed this bridge, that means I’ve passed the gate. Maybe Carole was right; these photos are breadcrumbs in case I get lost. Damnit. I hate being lost.

Ok, sprint up that hill then turn around and start looking for the green gate.
Will it be on my left or right?
I went right out of the gate, right? So that puts it on my left. But I passed it, I think. Damn. It. DAMNIT.
Gate.
Gate.
Gate.
Green gate… hey. I have a photo of the gate from yesterday. The address is there. Ok. 68. There’s 22. 30…
Oh, hey butcher dude. What? Ah… no. I didn’t come back to chat. And I don’t know what you said but your smile is nice. Bye.
46, 52, 60, who numbers these places?
Oh hello green gate.

So happy to see you again.

Writing,

JH