My First Springtime Jogging Adventure

I have dug through the heap of shoes in the bottom of the closet, tossing aside a pile of winter boots, moving aside the summer sandals that have been pulled down recently to join the jumble . . . all the while assuring myself that I will organize the closet today, knowing full well that I have said this to myself every morning since we moved in two years ago. I have at last found two jogging shoes that match, still sporting a bit of the dried dirt leftover from their last use months ago. I reach in the drawer and wrestle into my jogging bra and pull on a favorite t-shirt that fit so well last spring. It seems to bunch peculiarly around what used to be a somewhat slender waist, refusing to go down any further unless I resort to some of the techniques reminiscent of those learnt in my sausage-making class – with what appears to be a similar looking result. Oh well . . . out the door . . . When I look down I notice the farmer’s tan that resulted from my brief affair with bicycling. My daughter, a bit aghast at this, reminded me that they did sell spray-on tan products . . . not believing that I would willingly go around in such a state. As I run down the street I wonder how many mornings I may have to do this to make some difference. I place a hand upon my stomach as I run and I am immediately aware of how the poet may have been inspired to write that one’s stomach might “shake like a bowl full of jelly”.

Rather than to be emotional about all of this, I choose to be scientific. . .
The human species prefer the shelter of their hovels during the dark, cold winter months. Retreating at the first signs of cold and darkness to the protection and comforts offered within, cable television, microwave popcorn and Blue Bell ice-cream. Here they feast upon the store of food they have gathered, having anticipated these bleak, dark months. They will only venture out and leave the safety of their shelter to feed when tempted by foods that don’t store well, like Starbuck’s caramel macchiato with whipped crème and caramel or Shipley’s crème filled donuts. During these hibernating months, the humans may find that they have to venture out to replace their secondary skins. Humans are the only species that seem to have lost their fur somewhere, and have resorted to manufacturing the required protective layer in the form of clothing. The female may utilize various forms of this in helping her to attract a mate.

Upon the arrival of spring, the humans emerge to frolic in the sunshine and to mate (depending on if they have a headache). Which brings me back to my original point . . . . I need to go buy a new t-shirt.

By Cindy McMorran

Healthy Living

“This,” Christine muttered as she tied her running shoes, “is an exercise in futility.” The shoes had been a gift from Max, meant to seal their joint commitment to a healthier lifestyle. She had been given more romantic birthday gifts, but she had to admit they were excellent shoes. She had extra-wide feet, and heretofore sneakers had always pinched her little toe so that she would return from running and find the imprint of that toenail in its neighbor’s side. This had quite discouraged her from running.

Frankly, it took a hell of a lot less to discourage her.

As she swung one foot up on the fence post and leaned towards her flexed toe, she wondered if she should just tell Max she’d been running. She could take his trip as a little sabbatical of her own, three days off from weights and sit-ups and sweat dripping into her eyes. Lord knows she could sure use the time to work on the seating chart and go over the band’s play list.

For some reason she could not quite determine, Christine brushed aside that possibility and turned to start down the sidewalk. She took a few walking steps before she accelerated into a jog. She was not entirely sure her jog was actually any faster than the walk had been.

Was this what their life together would be? she wondered. Would she always feel she had to justify the smallest of things? Would she really never again simply buy buttered popcorn at the theater because she felt like it, without first wondering whether Max wanted it plain? Would there be days she could skip brushing her teeth, or would she spend the whole day worried that he would judge her, even though he never had before?

Her pace had picked up a little since she’d turned off Hydraulic Road. There was less traffic here, but there was no sidewalk. Max said running on the dirt by the side of the road was better for her joints, but Christine had a bit of a balance problem. She actually was quite adept at tipping over while standing perfectly still, so she was not terribly enthusiastic about uneven surfaces with crags hidden under a cover of autumn leaves. She stuck to the road.

It did feel nice once she got going, she had to admit. And it was only 30 minutes out of her Saturday morning. Getting started was really the hard part; after that, she just let the momentum carry her forward. She was starting to feel good, downright virtuous, in fact. She’d get back home, take a quick shower, and breeze through the papers she had to grade while riding high on the endorphins.

Turning left off of Emmet Road, she slowed to a walk in the parking lot. She had a moment of indecision before she pulled open the door to the Krispy Kreme. After all, the “hot” light was on.

“Exercise in futility,” she mumbled, pulling three dollars out of her pocket.

Written by Emily Rosenbaum