Ode to Rob

I went for a run yesterday.  I've been doing this without gusto for a few weeks, now.  Run/walk on M-W-F (except for last week, when I just sat around Wisconsin eating rich food).  Well, yesterday, I walked for a warm-up, and then just ran (well...more like jogged) for 2.5 miles before slowing down to walk a little cool down.  It felt nice, as far as running goes.  I kind of hate running.  A lot.  With gusto.  As I was watching the lights on the treadmill round the track, keeping count of how far I'd gone, I thought about my friend, Rob. 

He used to run marathons.  Fast.  Until he was waylaid by a torn labrum in his hip.  I met him just before his arthroscopic surgery and we became fast friends (or, at least I hoped so).  He's basically the person I've always wanted to be.  Nice, fit, and smart.  Luckily, he's also gay, so there's none of that fear that I'll accidentally become attracted to him.  In the words of Anne of Green Gables, Rob is a kindred spirit.  I keep trying to talk him into running the Portland marathon next year for his triumphant return to the world of marathon running.

So as I was "running," I couldn't help but think that if we were side by side on treadmills, and he was doing his walk a mile, run 1/4 mile routine, he'd still be beating me.  Oh well.  At least I was trying.

Today was kind of a bad day.  The weather was beautiful, but I got some bad news this afternoon.  **Insert recent developments in my life here.**  Kind of a bummer, but again, I thought about Rob and had to smile.  Instead of all the actual poetic "good thoughts" I've already posted and could have thought to myself, all I could really think was, "well...at least a monkey didn't rip off my hands and face."  It's a little gem that Rob used to tell me if I was having a bad day, and it would always cheer me up.  Because seriously...at least a monkey didn't rip off my hands and face.