I hope 2017 is treating you all well so far. We kicked off the new year by staying up too late playing board games and eating too much fondue because we are rock stars.
Because there ain’t no party like a Martini party, I celebrated surviving the debauchery with a New Year’s Day Eminem run. (For the uninitiated, an Eminem run is eight miles. I slay me.)
The run itself was more or less terrible. I was tired. I had a cheese hangover. It was cold. The sidewalks were icy. I spent the last two miles desperately needing to pee but not willing to take advantage of either a conveniently placed Walgreens or the Sarah Bowen Shea capri-pee approach. It was just One Of Those Runs. You get through it. You get your sticker. You move on.
I’m going to keep you in suspense for a second.
Let it be known that I almost never find money on runs. I see some of y’all’s pictures with your sweaty hands full of change and wonder how the heck that happens. My theory is that since I live in a college town and college students never have money, they are careful with their coins. In 2016, I found, maybe, 30 cents — and 20 of those cents were two dimes I found next to each other on a run in December. I was over the moon about those dimes, frankly, and felt that was the pinnacle of my run money career.
Because the cemetery I usually run through was closed because of the snow and ice, I had to add a half mile by running through a neighborhood I generally don’t run through. And there it was. In a snowbank. Pocked by ice crystals. A flaccid George Washington.
Reader — I literally did a double-take. I also looked around to see if I was being punked. When Ashton Kutcher failed to appear, I flicked off as much of the ice as I could and shoved the bill in my pocket.
I’d like to say my steps were light and joyful for the last mile. They weren’t. Lately, right around mile seven, my lower back starts to grumble and moan. It feels like a couple of the muscles have decided to not be team players and are knotting up in protest. I’ve already made an appointment with my acupuncturist pal. In fact, odds are good that I’ll be a human pincushion as you are reading this. Fingers crossed.
Still, finding folding money seems like an excellent start to the year, right? A reminder that pushing through the less than spectacular parts will lead to a reward? Ah, running. You teach us so much.
Depending on what my back chooses to do, I may or may not be running the 3M half in Austin in a few weeks. I will be gong to Austin regardless. If I can’t run, I’ll be the most enthusiastic athletic supporter I can be. And no matter what, I’ll be eating as many breakfast tacos as a human can hold. One must have priorities.
How’s 2017 treating you so far? And what are your priorities for the coming year?