The Running Culture

In a place where our headlines every day document the shoot-outs provoked by drug cartels, the arrests, people stealing iron and steel from cargo trains, international problems of intolerance and violence, the epic, abysmal stupidity of our congress in Mexico and the know-no-nothing minority in the States that redefines how low the human race can descend, it is a joy to be among people who don't care how old you are, what you look like, or how much you can do. Whether you are trying to get into shape or training for an Iron Man competition, you are going to be supported because everyone who is part of the running culture knows how hard you have to work to reach your goal. It doesn't matter whether you are brown, black, orange or purple, what kind of clothes you wear, or what language you speak. It is assumed that if you are making the effort, you belong with the rest of the crowd.

People who run suffer much less depression than the general population, and that may be one of the reasons for this atmosphere of happy support. There are not many places outside of family--and certainly not every family--where the negative de-emphasized to this extent. The complaining and whining one hears, from the newspapers to so-called news networks with their ranting proponents of hate, fear, and stupidity, have no place in the running culture. They are consciously set aside.

Maybe for these reasons alone, it is worth the effort to get into better shape. It works on much more than your body. Your soul can use it too.

Back at the daily grind...

Rain is predicted for tomorrow and Thursday, but no one believes it. For weeks now, it has clouded up every afternoon--big, dark, roiling clouds--but nothing happens. Or it is cloudy in the morning and then the sun comes out to bake us all. The only positive part is that the early mornings are cool enough to enable me to run.


It was back to the daily grind today, but somehow it just wasn't as hard as it was two weeks ago. Nevertheless, I told Adrián that, much as I appreciated his knowledge and dedication, the idea that I could run 5K in 25 minutes by August borders on the hallucinatory. I told him I had virtual running pals who could back me up on this. He laughed and told me to figure out what kind of cake to bake when I was proven wrong, since he loves goodies. At that point I made a formal bet with him--from my end, a dark chocolate French tart with chocolate crust. He will have to go out and buy a cake for me, but I'm going to ask for a "tres leches" cake. Stay tuned for the outcome.


This morning the Ski Pole Lady gave me a beaming smile when she saw me. Did she miss me? I smiled back, and maybe if we can eventually slide into a conversation, I can ask her what the hell she is doing. The curiosity is killing me. It's those ski gloves that put her over the top, and I've simply GOT to know what is up with this gal.

Hal seems to have given up, but he may be waiting in the wings for something worse than the destruction of paragraphs.

It's off to the store with me, again....