Rain is falling, again,
I can’t say I mind
Because I’m hoping people will shelter
Staying away from the places
That might put others at risk.

I broke the rules this morning,
Letting the forecast schedule my workout
Which was okay
Since I committed to riding inside
Instead of pounding the pavement.

The course was out in Cali,
Posted to YouTube and there I was riding
At twenty-eight virtual miles per hour
Jostling for position, until at the end
It was obvious, the camera rider’s soul was gone.

Mine, too, sort of,
Since I tried to match the pace as best I could
On my spinning bike.
Limited to rpm comparisons,
I clocked in at about half the rpm of the soul starved one.

Right about where I thought I’d be,
Half as good as those dudes,
Same as when I run, about half as fast as the fastest,
So I toweled off, changed into dry clothes,
And headed upstairs

Where the coffee was hot, and a sixteen-ounce
Piece of pound cake was waiting for breakfast.
The coffee let loose the flavor of a chunk of ginger
And eventually became a mug of coffee leftovers
Watered down with boiling hot water.

The color of the water gradually going from coffee dark
To water clear and less of a ginger kick with each mug.
Maybe half as strong with each refill,
Perfect for a rainy day,
Watered down.


Why do we like who we like?


Why do we do what we do?

And we do them all.
I suppose there is no figuring them,
Especially, the ABBA thing,
Although, as I found today,
I know a whole lot more Madonna
Than my masculine membership probably allows,
But then, again,

Why do we like what we like?

Hornsby…the home connection, the stories, the variety.

Why do we do what we do?

Running…it what I’ve always done.

A bad reason, I know,
But I’m not ready to claim
The others in my fitness calling.
Not really ready for Madonna or ABBA, either.