Deer and mofos

ImageEven broken runners can be saved, I firmly believe it. Beaches and hills, baby. Sand and trails. Make every step different, land softly on a surface that’s not a road. It has been a slow but sweet cure for me.

I am staying in a place with direct access to mountainous trails. Not everyone has that, of course. But if you can get to a softer, uneven surface –every park and golf course offers this!– then do it.

Yesterday I ran uphill hard on tired legs, focused on each step. After seeing lots of rabbits I ran into a family of 4 or 5 deer. (Or maybe they were just friends. Or visiting from the East Coast.) Interestingly, they were not scared of me, even when I yelled and clapped to make them disperse and give back the trail, damn it.

Two thoughts occurred to me when they finally went on their jolly way. I need to lift my feet the way deer do; gentle and graceful. And, running daily on these amazing rials I am one lucky mofo, a phrase I seem to hear a lot in Los Angeles, directed at me. I take it as a term of endearment. As in: “One fast mofo.”


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