Gotta run.
Went running Sunday morning on Banana Island. Banana Island is a bit of reclaimed land being dredged up from the lagoon and is becoming THE place for the rich (and corrupt?) to build their ridiculous mansions (think golden statues of bulls... I'm not kidding. It's downright biblical!). It's also home to several high-rise apartment buildings where mostly ex-pats live. It has wide, paved avenues that are largely un-used since the island is still being developed, so it's perfect for running, and quite safe.
When I run at home in Houston, I pass neighbors walking their dogs, other runners, mockingbirds, blue jays, and robins. Occasionally, I'll see a small herd of deer, and I hear snakes are out there, too, but I've never seen any, thank goodness.
During my jog here, I passed orange-headed lizards about six inches long; birds I did not know nesting in the tall, marshy grass; a woman carrying her thick, well-worn Bible on her head as she spoke to a friend on her cell phone while a man sat on a plastic chair on the sidewalk singing softly. A rooster clucked at me when he saw me coming and, after I passed him, he crowed loudly, suddenly brave.
But it was all so normal. Running. Feet hitting the pavement. Listening to my own breathing. Setting goals and then resetting them as I fight the age-old internal debate: to stop or not to stop. I stopped after two miles or so. Did I mention how humid it was?
Although Ade had chuckled at me when I told him I would only be out for 35 minutes or so, by the time I returned to the car, he was walking a few laps, too, and suggested that madame could get some "canvas shoes" for him. I told him that was a deal. Maybe I'll have a running buddy before too long.
When I run at home in Houston, I pass neighbors walking their dogs, other runners, mockingbirds, blue jays, and robins. Occasionally, I'll see a small herd of deer, and I hear snakes are out there, too, but I've never seen any, thank goodness.
During my jog here, I passed orange-headed lizards about six inches long; birds I did not know nesting in the tall, marshy grass; a woman carrying her thick, well-worn Bible on her head as she spoke to a friend on her cell phone while a man sat on a plastic chair on the sidewalk singing softly. A rooster clucked at me when he saw me coming and, after I passed him, he crowed loudly, suddenly brave.
But it was all so normal. Running. Feet hitting the pavement. Listening to my own breathing. Setting goals and then resetting them as I fight the age-old internal debate: to stop or not to stop. I stopped after two miles or so. Did I mention how humid it was?
Although Ade had chuckled at me when I told him I would only be out for 35 minutes or so, by the time I returned to the car, he was walking a few laps, too, and suggested that madame could get some "canvas shoes" for him. I told him that was a deal. Maybe I'll have a running buddy before too long.
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