I set off for an afternoon jog just ahead of blackening western sky. Rain clouds were threatening to make it a lost opportunity. Actually, I knew full well that I would get caught out when the storm hit. Clad with running trunks and a baseball cap (with brim to deflect moisture from the eyes) I wasn’t far along before I could hear what sounded like freeway traffic from behind. I swung my head for a glance but saw no cars. Then I realized that the racket was the din of heavy rain overtaking me. I hustled a bit to make the sanctuary of the the tree canopy and cover in the woods Ooops. Too late and it was more than heavy rain. The leading edge of this squall was pelting me with small gauge hail. The attendant lightning and thunder didn’t concern me so much as my imagination of what it would be like if the stinging hail grew to windshield busting size. No where to bail except friend Pete’s open garage where I ducked in for a lull. Weather is a beautiful thing.

You know the feeling as you round the bend and there he is — The Law, in his cruiser with radar gun.

They can be anywhere. I popped the trail hill (in my running shoes!) and coming up the other side is an officer (on his bicycle!). No I wasn’t busted for speeding but illegal begal just the same. My jogging partner was sans leash. We passed each other in only a blink. The cop was preoccupied with the navigation, negotiating the ruts and maintaining the momentum. He glanced at me and I saw the look — and the brain registered the violation but he was out of whack. Unable to coil and strike right then. His snap-shot (friend or foe) image of my dawg was a potential distraction. After all, he is a police dog, (friend) but the encounter was brief and in another instant we were all out of range.

Jogging the greenway trail, (wide enough asphalt path for a medium truck), there was a right of way conflict. Dawg and I were off to the far right side but approaching head on — a road block — 5 girls wide (likely an afterschool athletic group) jogging and hogging the whole place oblivious. I suppose that I could have stepped off into the rough and let them blow by but my age and tax payer status said hold yer course. And I imagined I’d have to hunker down and take them on with a dropped shoulder. Closer and now in range I hollered “STARBOARD!” and startled, they bunched up some and cleared my way. Thankyou very much.

Now I’m sitting here wondering if I’d have done the same thing if these had been from the school football team. Hmmmm. Maybe not so tough after all…

It’s great that Bush is promoting fitness. Is that all that they are promoting? Shades of Judge Ito’s OJ Simpson courtroom when the computer monitors were boldly embossed with the SONY trademark. Here we have two staffers flanking the No. 1 with T shirts sponsering RunTex and Runners World magazine. The bearers have taken pains to insure that the messages are not obscured by their running number signs.

Well, maybe I’m imagining all of this maybe not. One thing is for sure — Bush is muttering under his breath, “stay behind me boys… I’m win’in this thang”.

Refilling from a fire hydrant off the side of the hiway is a tank/pump contraption (used for shooting a slurry of straw and water as a ground coverbase) This trailer is towed by an old suburban, the contractor employees sitting inside. I observe as I jog past the cigarette smoke wafting from the windows all down. Just as I imagine the inside of this vehicle littered with junk food containers, sweaty mens and dirty smelly ashtrays stationary in the bright late afternoon, a big black dude from inside this hell hollers out, ‘Hey Man! What are you doin’ runin’ in this HOT GOTDAMN SUN for? It’s too dang hot for that! Boy!’ His voice faded out as I gave a little salute and kept cruising but he was likely muttering ‘U white boys is all crazy…u know that don’t ya?’ Odd that I was thinking ‘Here I am enjoying this fresh air, suntan and exercise’ and he’s thinking that he’s the one mo better off. I don’t expect we will be trading places.

Pickup your feet lest you trip. When on the street it is wise to be heads-up for vehicles. So it was while scanning traffic, I hooked my left toe under a hazard lying in the gutter. This brought me down hard for a chestslide and the other usual contact points: elbows, knees and palms. Most think that a fall is a slow mo loss of balance. They would imagine time for skipping or waving one’s arms while transferring weight to the other leg and recovering. Not so. No time even for a tuck or roll. It happens so damn fast that one moment you are making speed, the next split second you are down. All you can do is lay there a second incredulous, thankful that you did not drag your chin or face on the asphalt. Now get back up for damage check and utter your favorite expletive and begin jogging again. The loopwire that took me out wasn’t even attached to anything. In my state of denial and disbelief it MUST have been a trip wire boobytrap. I had a look during the accident investigation. It was loose in the sand about 18 inches diameter. My left toe had inserted under the leading edge and weight of my right foot neatly held down the trailing. Freak. I’d discuss the psychology of embarrassment (wondering if anyone just saw). That’s a topic, but excuse me, I need to go flush the mud and blood from my wounds.