I am new to running. I have never been the runner type. Just look at my body, and you can tell. But lately I have found a comfort in running I have not found in any other exercise I have done: silence. Running is one of those times in life where you can be quiet, and you're not required to fill in the blank, you're not required to be smart, you're just required to just do what your body was made to do -- run. And I appreciate that kind of a break from the overly complicated and verbal life that I lead.
Since last year, as the weather permits, I have been going running on Townlake trail in Austin. Sorry, folks, I do not think I could ever call it the LadyBird Lake -- that's just silly. Considering the number of glistening muscular hot bodies running on that trail, it's more like Lady Gaga Lake. But I digress...
Last Friday, I was running after work and as I passed by the South 1st Bridge I came to that area where the dogs play off leash. On left side is a raised platform with a field where people do exercises and play team sports, in the middle is the trail and to my right is the dogs diving into the water and playing with each other, worry free.
Usually I am past this area pretty quickly but today I was really feeling the heat and humidity and struggling with the run. As I slowed down a little bit by the dog park, I noticed that a bunch of guys were playing football in the field. They were pretty close to the trail. Surely enough, the football flew out of a player's hands and started bouncing along the trail towards the water.
A normal American guy would lunge at the opportunity and flex his torso muscles while his sinewy muscular arms reached and grabbed that rogue ball with firm callused hands and then threw it back into the field in a perfect spiral that would shame any NFL player.
This is what a typical sporty American guy would do. Not so with me.
I see the ball flying and all these mini calculations start in my head: I can get to that ball, it's easy if I try. Let's catch the ball, ok let's do it. WAIT A MINUTE, I do not know how to throw the football. FUCK! What am I to do? Hand the ball to the guy like a trophy? No, that won't work. It will make me look dorky. Come on hurry up the ball is almost in the water, the guys are looking at me. FUCK FUCK FUCK! OK, here's the plan, pick up the pace and run while looking at your ipod pretending not to notice the ball at all.
I picked up my pace, pretended to be changing tracks on my ipod and ran out of there like a bat out of hell. Behind me I heard the splash the heavy football made in the water and corresponding groans from Arian muscled men on the field who were all going to strip to their speedos in a minute to go fetch the ball that was now destined to a life in smelly lake water thanks in part to the nelly guy who did not even try to catch it.
In the back of my mind, even my alter ego was calling me a "Fat Addled Goose".
I ran on, my face red not with exertion but with shame.
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