Yesterday I made up my mind I would run today after work then write my blog post about my run. I tried to ensure that I would do this by telling people at work that I intended to run. This technique is not as successful at this job as it has been at other jobs, because nobody there much cares whether I run or not and are unlikely to ask me about it the next day. Still, as they say, I’ll know.
I had a kind of a bad day at work. Work was fine, but I was in a sad mood I could not seem to shake. I chalked it up to Monday and hoped a run would straighten me out. I had just read another blog about a run which inspired me, http://theblogrunner.wordpress.com/. Sometimes running is just what you need.
Then I got home and checked messages. The pastor of my church is dying. He has been in bad health for some time now and in fact recently retired because of it. We had heard he was in the ICU. Today there was a message from another parishioner leaving her number if I wanted the update. He has not many days left to him. Prayers are asked for. I cried.
Full disclosure: I don’t go to church every week. I’m not very religious and sometimes I’m not even very nice. But Father Paul is a dear, sweet, wonderful man. I can’t express how sad I am. I thought a run would definitely help me now.
After a minor debate about what to wear (it’s cold, but not that cold, then again I’m not in top running shape, etc etc), I put on leggings and my long-sleeved army t-shirt. A headband to cover my ears, I was set. It turned out to be just the right amount of clothes for the temperature. I pulled the sleeves over my hands. I could rock this.
But I couldn’t rock it very fast. I soon felt that I was plodding along in a ridiculous fashion. I felt fat and middle-aged. Well, I didn’t think the run was going to instantaneously cheer me up. I kept going.
I never got any of those endorphins you hear about. I never even reached the “I can rock this” stage, although eventually I realized I could at least keep up the plod for as long as I decided to. I decided to keep it up for about as long as my last run. Maybe a little less. Definitely not more.
I didn’t mind it not being a good run. I did mind that little voice that popped into my head saying things like, “Why are you even doing this? What good is this doing you? What good does anything do anybody?” I ignored the voice as best as I could and kept going.
Then I heard a squeaky noise. Was that a dog? Or a bird? It was a puppy, on a chain outside a house.
“Hi, cute puppy!” I said. He was behind a fence, so I couldn’t pet him. I don’t like to pet strange dogs anyways, unless their people are right there to ask. The dog looked at me and started making whimpering noises. Oh dear, he was sad! He wanted to go in the house. After I was past, he returned to the door and continued his high-pitched barking. I wanted to go knock on the door and say, “Let that puppy in the house!”
I don’t know how long that puppy was out there. I don’t think it was too cold for a dog to be outside. Perhaps his owners had a very good reason for having him out there. But he wanted to go inside! I felt so sad for that little puppy, I cried when I walked my cool down with Tabby.
Sometimes when you feel a certain way, you just have to feel that way until you don’t feel that way any more. I will at least strive to not write such a downer blog post tomorrow.
And I may go for a short walk later, just to see that the puppy has been let back into the house.
Mohawk Valley Girl 