I am eternally 12 or whatever the age is right before you really start caring what people think and no longer indulge in ridiculous, immature behavior. Don't get me wrong: I definitely care what people think about me but it never seems that I care enough that I stop doing ridiculous and inappropriate things.
This is nothing new with me. When I was 14, an age when most girls are pretty much into boys, clothes, make-up and whatever is the cool thing du jour; (and by the way, I was into that stuff too. I am not a total freak.) I was wearing my dad's fishing waders and walking with my best friend down the creek to see if we could find where it ended. Lucky for me she was pretty immature too. We had fun that day. We got really dirty. And really wet. We met an artist whose yard we were tromping through when the creek got too deep. She gave us some lemonade and laughed when we told her how old we were. She thought we were 10. Did I also mention that I was a "late bloomer"? I alluded to that here regarding my still waiting for the titty fairy.
Today when I went for my run I got lost. Running when you are lost feels very silly. When lost your first inclination is to stop and walk and get your bearing. And I did that, but then I decided it didn't really make sense. I figured I could get unlost faster, or more lost as proved to be the case, if I ran.
I got lost because I was trying to avoid the wind that is inevitable in March. The wind is always much worse on this one particular road of my 6.6 mile loop. To outwit the wind I thought I would take a sheltered ninja route. I dodged through a new neighborhood of cluster homes and townhomes. I navigated easy enough through the cluster homes but then got confused in the townhomes. They were all so tall and there were so many of them. I was in an endless maze of townhomes and could not figure out how the hell to get out. Worse, they all looked exactly the same. I felt supper silly running up and down the vacant and perfectly manicured townhome streets. I guess everyone who owns a townhome works, or perhaps they were all looking out their windows laughing at me, regardless the reason there was not a soul in there. Not one single person. I kept thinking any second I am going to turn the corner and there will be the Minotaur.
I managed to escape the townhome labryinth and worked my way towards home. I had reversed my loop thinking that the wind would be worse at the beginning of my run and hopefully, at my back on the last part where I would be tired. The wind would then be my friend and push me up those last hills. I found out though that you cannot beat the wind.
It finally got me in the last 2 miles. Anyone who has ever run in the wind, excuse me, against the wind, knows that you just feel and look dumb. You exert so much effort with very little gain and there is just nothing you can do about it. You want to say;just stop for just one second. Please, give me a break, but the wind is unyielding-- it is March after all, the evil month. Running in the wind is like trying to swim in strong current, you just don't feel like you are making much headway.
After fighting the wind for a mile, uphill I should add, "Learning to Fly" by Tom Petty found its way into my ipod's rotation. So inspired by the words, the wind, the exhausting hill, I stretched my arms out like an airplane and finished the last mile of my run like that.
Unlike in the townhome labyrinth, as I drew closer to my home there were people out--landscapers, Bell South men, people walking their dogs. I pretended not to see them as I flew by.
For the record, running into the wind with airplane arms does NOT make it any easier. But to me, if you are going run in the wind, it just makes sense to do it with arms stretched out, sputtering like an airplane. It really gives you a sense of purpose. Tom Petty belting it out in your ears helps too. Talk about theme songs.