Last night I ran 3 miles. Shut up real runners, just keep it zipped. I was doing my 1st legitimate tempo run and, oh yeah, still in my first 30 days getting back in after a heaping serving of laziness and injury.
I was in the home stretch, speeding up for a nice chunk of faster. There was a white SUV right beside and to my right. Within easy touching distance. As I moved past the driver’s side back fender, it powered up lights, big engine, big roar.
This is Me:
SCREAM: “Oh Jesus!”
HANDS: those would be jazz hands of terror you see waving by.
FEET: scurry like crack addicted mice. Skitter, skitter, wait how am I up on the opposite sidewalk?
HEAD: have the aliens come for me?
Somehow, I keep running (to be honest, slow jogging) despite the laughter howling like spider monkeys from my body. Though I did have to keep it to a slow jog for a bit cuz my hands were all tingly from adrenaline and my breathing was that of a wounded hippo.
Seriously, I’m pretty sure that A: I squealed like a six year old girl; B: I could not process that it was just a car and not some scary monster trying to eat my soul, and C: the people in that car did it on purpose.
I don’t hold a grudge, pretty sure I’d have laughed too-oh, wait I did.