I took Mariel and Donna to a race somewhere. All three of us were running. It was being held at some kids’ entertainment place [like Nifty Fifty’s maybe (I was there just yesterday, in Sicklerville)] A bunch of my friends were there – some from school [Bingo Bob & his kids] and some from The Bonnie-Verse [John The Parrothead and his daughter]. While Donna and Mare were checking in, Bob’s 1st grader, Mikey, zoomed a remote control car towards the register. I stuck my foot out to stop it, but the car jumped over it like a takeoff ramp and ended up on the T-shirt table. With its wheels spinning, the little car was throwing T-shirts everywhere. The volunteers were NOT pleased.
I got the girls registered and off to their starting place. For some reason, the girls’ race started before the guys’. At this point I said to Donna, “I forgot that I’m running. I didn’t bring my gear.”
“It’s your bag in the car. You have just about enough time to get changed.”
Their gun went off and they started.
I dug around in the bag to find my shirt, shorts, sox and running shoes. Black shirt, navy shorts, white sox and white sneakers with red and yellow trim [very expensive and fast looking] Donna must have borrowed the shoes though, because they were laced funny and not nearly tight enough [Donna’s feet are much smaller than mine, but when she does borrow my sneakers, they are always too loose when I get them back]
Now, between finding my gear, getting changed and struggling with my shoes, Bob said to me, “Dude, you’re half an hour behind; why don’t you just give up?”
“I think I can catch up.”
I don’t remember if I did or not.
My first time back at Bally’s in, like, forever [truthfully, I haven’t been there in a couple of years, but now that my renewal is only $99 for this year, it may be time]
A girl was running on the track, as I was riding the stationary bike. Blonde with a black jog bra and blue capris; she had a tattoo of Texas on her arm. She smiled at me every time she came by. Eventually, she waved for me to join her. I got off the bike and realized that I had no shirt on [the 100 Push-up Challenge has produced some nice results] and that I had hiking boots on.
I went down to the locker room, to find that I had forgotten my running shoes. I cursed my stupidity and returned upstairs to the track to run with her anyway, but she was gone.
Running-ish Dreams are nothing new:
Monday, March 19, 2001
With my back hurting as much as it has been, I am now reduced to just dreaming about good runs. They say that when you are dreaming of running, you are either running to or running from something. I am definitely running to. In my dreams (like the one I had last night) I am very excited about the run. In my dreams, I'm either already moving or getting ready to run and there's a good feeling going on. Oddly, though, I'm usually someplace I've already been.
In my dream last night, I was getting my new shoes on, (very high tech affairs they were) and I took a little jog ... around my old college. I was "lacing them " up on the back step of my old dorm. I could almost remember the layout, too. I'll have to go to their website to see if everything is really where I thought it was, just to see if I remembered correctly. But that is just typical. I have dreams of running in my old neighborhoods in Philly, in Haddonfield.
However, I also have had dreams of places I've invented, in Colorado, San Diego, Providence, the beach in Maryland. Although I consider myself a triathlete, I only sometimes dream of biking or swimming. That's probably because it's been so long for either. I don't have the same anticipation for the next bike ride or swim.
What is it about losing shoes though? I know I need new ones, but haven’t had time to shop for the right ones.
Oh, I forgot to mention the recurring dream where, while doing a triathlon, I can’t find my shoes.
They are in a pile with everyone else’s shoes [one of those “let’s have fun” angles that triathlon directors throw in from time to time]. I meet a cute girl, searching for her sneakers and within seconds we’re smitten with each other.
It’s not long before we’re having sex in a Florida condo stairwell.
Wait a minute … was that a dream?
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