confessions II

Routes in this town are just plain hard to put together. It's as if all the developers have this antagonistic view of each other. Where one subdivision ends, another begins but never, oh never, do they blend. Of course, I live downtown (when envisioning downtown, keep your mind from conjuring up images of, say, New York, Miami, Los Angeles. Think more Americana...a place that is at least trying to maintain the small town America of yesterday.) and everything is blended here. People, streets, neighborhoods, financial brackets.

On the other side of the highway are the subdivisions. The box houses. The McMansions. It's also where the plastic surgeons have their offices, where the big-box stores are.

(I am not knocking it. That's what I'm trying to say. Keep reading.)

On Saturday (beautiful, inspiring, Saturday) I chose to lengthen my run by *gulp* crossing the freeway...baby jogger and all (no taking off into undeveloped fields...).

I would go through an under construction subdivision, down the hill by the high school, take a short shimmy through the park, cross at the Central Expressway, up (and, yes, I acknowledged to myself the bitch of hill I would be running) through the Country Club (where hubby used to Super), along the busy thoroughfare and then over the Central Expressway and then...

But wait...as I approached the stoplight set amongst the box stores just outside of the Country Club, I realized that there wasn't a sidewalk where I could have sworn I had seen one. So I pushed the 'cross the street' button (does that button have a name? does anyone know?) and waited. And I looked humorously at all the poor 'rich' people trapped in their BMWs and air conditioned SUVs. I crossed.

(previous scene repeats itself, except this this time character has lost some of her jovial patience.)

Set free again, I scurried for about 20 feet. And then that sidewalk ended, right before the bridge to go over the freeway. The sidewalk to get over the freeway was on the other side. Of course, there was no sidewalk leading up to that point.

So I turned around, feeling like a total dweeb, naturally. Aware of all the eyes watching my numbskulled 'progress'.

This is where I encapsulize. (Not sure if that's an actual writing term. Maybe it just became one.)

Called husband, hinted that he should pick us up, bravely asserted that we would make it. (Ah, my flair for drama.)

Back through Country Club. Passed a group of teenagers, felt good about myself when they said, "Cool!" as I whizzed by (ha-ha. no whizzing there. lots of walking, though.) But had unkind thoughts--despite my efforts to self-edit--about the young, unencumbered beauty that jogged so daintily from one of streets.

Finally. Across the d*****d Central Expressway, jaunt along the park, back by the high school, but this time...this time I said, "Ah...to hell with it." And I pushed the jogger over the grass (fully aware that a thorn just might puncture my tires.) until I got to part where the sidewalk began. And then finally home. Where I found my husband doing some heavy duty yard work.

Shortly thereafter we both collapsed into the bed, explaining to each other which of us was the tiredest and why.

The run was just work. That's the way it is before a route is worked out.

I love being a runner. It explains the rest of life to me.