I don’t do well in the cold. These couple of weeks of frigid temperatures have taken their toll. To put mildly…I’VE BEEN FUCKING MISERABLE.
Come to think of it, I also pale in heat, rain, snow, hail and sleet. I totally get why people move south as they get older and I may be one of them soon.
This morning, after my usual IV of coffee, my plan was to go to the park to run.
When I came out of Panera it was drizzling. Oh shit, I thought, no run for me today, fastening my hood. Then I hear…
I look around to see who said that, but there was nobody but the guy manning the local coffee cart with his head in a box of donuts.
As I start to head home, I hear it again.
“Alright, I said out loud, “Hicks is that you?”
No I am not going around the bend…again…it’s just the name he’d call me because I hated getting wet.
He’d chide me repeatedly lecturing me by saying, “It’s just weather…ya can’t let it run your life baba.”
I’m just someone who feels better dry, and let me just say the wind in your hair is highly overrated.
However, I turn around towards the park thinking, what if the skies really open and I get soaked, then what.
“You can drip-dra when ya get home.”
So I run in a mild drizzle hiding under the trees, and the skies did open, but not until I was safely in my door with hardly a drop on me.
How bout that?
“You’re still a pussa.”