Why is it so cold today?
I wanted to go out and play.
The wind, it blew such a chill
That Saturday lost all its thrill.

What’s with this weather change,
The temperatures are out of my comfortable range,
It’s time, time to get hot,
Enough of the winter whatnot.

I feel so out of my outdoor game
That I’m penning rhymes ridiculously lame.
Enough is enough, something has got to give
Because it has been tough, a day I don’t want to relive.

Cold fingers in the morning,
Hot fingers during the day,
Back to cold in the afternoon.

They ache,
Change colors,
Pound when the blood comes back.

Mittens help,
Gloves make it worse,
Socks are the best.

I’m pretty sure I know why,
Not a lot to do about it,
Keep them warm and deal.

Last night, a friend of mine called me a POX which is different from a COX in terms of anatomical references and existential ownership of pride and masculine adolescent judgments. I could not accept the put down, sorry hash taggers, my ego does not accept that kind of ridicule and instead of tweeting, suing, or going to some dreary chain coffee shop and crying into a latte, I maturely came back at him with a, “Your Mom,” and set out on a plan to prove him I can be every bit of COX.

I woke to temperatures that were hovering around two-degrees, which is nothing to brag about since it was way worse than that further north. Still, though, I had never run in temperatures below the teens. Today would be different, I ran, on a gimpy calf dang-it, and alone at that. I listened to my leg, wondered about my breath freeze, and even managed to smile a couple of times. It wasn’t too bad and since there wasn’t a wind, I never worried about frostbite.

As I finished the run, I could tell something is different with me. It’s those uncommon thoughts that I’ve been saturated by lately. Getting out there and being in the game and actually living has allowed me to be a COX and not a POX. Sure there is a little stupidity in running under the weather and physical conditions I’m living with right now, but it sure felt good to be called foolish by those who have motivated me to get off my duff and stick with running. After all, what’s a COX without balls? In this group, that would be a fitness eunuch, I suppose. Perhaps, ePOX would be appropriate there.

This month I’ve been exploring my relationship to apathy. I suppose I do care about a lot of stuff, more so than I thought, anyway. My grumpiness about things annoying are probably not about apathy, maybe more like boredom or insecurity. I don’t know which yet, but that’s what 2019 is all about, finding an understanding about the inner workings of this COX, the potential therein, and the journey of reclaiming a soul.

Alright, it was just a run in really cold air. Nothing too enlightening… Or was it?…

Hey, Tattoo Buddha, I got my run in. Meow…

Routine has a way
Of making spontaneity cautious,
Of making adventure untenable,
Of putting acceptance into an unwieldy place.

Then there is the idea that a routine
Is a foundation for things like
Finding paths in the snow,
Running down the middle of a dark road,
Or under bright stars
In the moments before sunrise.

I love those routines,
The morning,
The cold and dark,
The frozen breath banter
Making the feels like temperature
Nothing but a conversation piece.

For it’s in those heart-pounding meet-ups
Where the repetition of one stride after another
Takes me away from the routines
Of going to work,
Watching talking heads banter about treason and liberty,
Or just sleeping my life away.

This month, the one built on so many failed resolutions,
Is proving to be the sort of break I’ve needed,
One where I’m taking leave of my excuses, my limitations,
Thirty-one days of living a routine filled with challenge,
Adventure, and “bull-shit” that staves off apathy.

The rewards are plenty of laughter,
A chance to stretch my social hesitancy,
An opportunity to test my resolve,
And an occasion to get outside of my normal routine.

Thanks, Y’all…