Ahh, Spring. In the deep of winter the word reminds me that eventually I will be fast(er) again. That my feet will be dry again. That my fingers will have feeling again. That my laundry pile of running gear will be more of a molehill than a mountain.
Spring has sprung.
The grass, as they say, really is greener.
With Spring comes joggers. In winter the few other hearty souls braving the windchill always wave, smile, or nod in acknowledgement of our shared pain, toughness, committment. In spring the joggers return and suddenly the running community seems less friendly. No knowing nods. Just blank stares as the passing runners attempting to lose ten pounds of winter weight pretend that avoiding eye contact means they can’t see anyone else on the trail.
With Spring comes allergies. The kind that makes your eyes itch, your chest tighten and your nose run like a powerful waterfall until it becomes bright red and chapped from over-wiping and your co-workers start to wonder about your extra-curricular activities.
With Spring comes strollers. Not the baby kind. The slow walking mob kind. The kind that will watch you run towards them but will remain eight abreast in a human force field giving you no option but to leave the path into the swampy mud because they are too busy smoking, talking on their cell phone, and/or making-out to be bothered to share the trail. The kind that would be unable to walk in a straight line if Ed McMahon was waiting twenty metres away with a giant cheque just for them if they managed move forward for 20 seconds without swerving randomly in an impossible to pass way.
With Spring comes dogs. Cooped up indoors all winter the owners let Precious run free because don’t worry he’s super-friendly and would never bite you as he uses your expensive tights as a climbing post and drools all over your expensive sneakers.
I think I have spring fever. The cranky kind of fever. Is it Autumn yet?
Title: The Beatles – Here Comes the Sun. 1969.