Actually, it didn't. Today's jog once again felt pretty darn good. I kept up a consistent pace the entire time, I was tired at the end, but I also felt myself smiling AND I managed to run pretty quickly for the final leg.
So I'm calling it a success.
There's a mostly-solid blanket of clouds, which helped. Also, it's warm but not hot and most importantly, it is not humid. As I stepped outside there were little drops of water falling intermittently. It wasn't sprinkling and it certainly wasn't raining. It was just thinking about it. Putting it's big toe in before diving in the lake.
I guess it thought it was too cold, because for the duration of my jog, no rain fell. And when I made it home, the sky did the same thing again. Sent down a few exploratory drops and then decided against raining.
Today I saw a uniform truck parked off the Western Prom. He wasn't making a delivery. I'm assuming he was having a lunch break. Sitting in the middle of the prom was a nurse stretching. He saw me coming and a look came over his face like he most've known how silly he looked. Wearing his blue hospital suit, pulling back his leg and craning his back while overlooking the Fore River and South Portland.
I saw another jogger today. And as I came around the crook of the Western Promenade Road - about where it hits ninety degrees by the cemetery, I saw another delivery truck parked out, having lunch.
I saw a construction crew working on an old red house. They were restoring the roof and the side of the truck promised that they were "historically accurate." I saw another reroofing project that made no such project and, in fact, tossed a mess of shingles down three stories through living tree branches.
I saw two little girls standing outside an apartment complex. They were dressed in full headscarf and flowing dress apparel.
I saw an old punk. He was out walking his dog. Skinny. He had impressive male pattern baldness. What was more impressive, though, was the hair he had. It was about a foot long and died orange. He was wearing a white t-shirt, tattered jean vest, chucks and, I believe, just plaid boxers for pants. His vest was covered in patches and safety pins. He was smoking a cigarette and contemplating picking up his dog's poop.
He'd apparently thought about it enough as I started to run by as that's when he dropped the cigarette, made a glove from the plastic bag and picked up after his dog.
I saw four kids in their late teens. Their dress was hipster-lite and they were wielding DIY kites made from trash bags.
As I rounded the corner closest to the hospital, I saw someone had left tiny jars of play-doh on the dirt-retaining wall.
I did have palpitations. The requisite three. They felt pretty minor, but I recorded them this time (finally!) and sent them in to Philips.
Now to shower and meditate on dinner. And the Brenda album. I'm still not sure what all I'm going to write about.
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