Running fool

It’s warm outside already. This is good news for me, because I need to run. My huge, sun-starved calves are the glistening white of raw cod fish. My core is soft and doughy.

Just now I ran 6.3 miles in an hour and nine minutes (according to MyTracks on my Droid phone). I listened to Kanye West’s album My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, because it was mentioned next to “There Will Be Blood” in this cool Grantland article about the five-year anniversary of that weird Sopranos series finale. I ran to the Santa Fe Plaza and looked at the stone that marks the end of the Santa Fe Trail. I ran up Canyon Road, past sculptures of bears and Indian chiefs and Atlas holding up a giant iPod instead of the earth.

I don’t wanna be white and doughy. I wanna be bronze and rock-hard. I’m gonna continue running and writing about it here, because I think that’ll be fun and keep me motivated.

My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy has sweet tracks to run to. “Power” cranked up as I was waiting at a stop light, so I started running hard in place, pumping my knees high, feet bouncing over and over off the sidewalk. That seemed like a good idea to me, so I kept pumping my legs the same way every time I had to stop and wait for traffic. This is probably why I was so broke down by the end of today’s jog.

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