Mythed Connections

I am reminded of Sisyphus, as I run up one of the taller hills along my stretch of Comm Ave. The Greek myth of a king punished to an eternity of rolling a massive boulder up a hill, only to have it slip away and return to the ground before he hits the top. While I may be engaged in a far less futile task, and I’m at least a lot more honest than he was, I am starting to empathize.

It has been a week since I ran last. This means hitting the road is going to be tougher than last time. The boulder I will have to roll is my own lazy ass.

The stiffness in my ankle was more or less gone, taking a week off seemed to be a good call. Chatting with a friend in the physical therapy racket over a few drinks also gave me a couple more stretches to try out–ones that are probably more helpful than the ones I was making up. All in all, I was ready to hit the road at 9 a.m. this morning.

Leaving had been a bit of a struggle. My morning trip through Facebook and a handful of IMs were so distracting, even after I was dressed in running shoes and fold-back fingerless mittens. So, I was out of the house by 9:15. But, Sisyphean metaphors aside, I was still out there, and I was still rolling myself up the hill.

It was far warmer than past weeks, but the wind was still hitting my face just so, such that no matter how many fingers my gloves had, it was a challenge to keep tears streaming down my face. I was aiming to do the shorter loop, and I had half of a mission left over from giving up too soon the last time. I had shaken the Greek myths from my head by the time I was passing the Reservoir, wondering whether the track would be clear next time I headed out.

Energy was running out as I was a couple of blocks away from my street, but I was determined to at least get to my T stop, off of Beacon Street before I let myself slow down. The Zombies, Run mission ended, after I listened to the final moments of a man of indeterminate accent telling his lady to remember him like that night in the barn. Not sure whether it was the road noise, or an Australian/Irish/some part of England dialect that was making him hard to really understand.

Pushed myself just a little further, and came to a rest on the far corner of my block. A couple of minutes’ walking would have me home.

All in all, I did better than I expected to after a more sedentary week.

Shirt of the Day: Long-sleeve NES controller (Material’s halfway between a T-shirt and a sweatshirt. Let’s call it a ‘Sweatee’)
Today’s Odd Pickup: Transmitter from another camp (and a man of indeterminate accent in my ears)


One thought on “Mythed Connections

  1. Pingback: Inner Monologue, Outer Wear | The Unsure Runner

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