Picked up a jigsaw,
Factory blemished, I went cheap,
Charged the battery and went to town…

On my leg…

Which should not be a surprise
Given the genetic power tool skill set
Handed down by my grandfather and father.

Rest easy, Mom, this was different.

Instead of sharp toothed blade,
There was a nice soft ball,
No worries, just straight relaxation.

It’s a massage gun, now.

That cheap, factory blemished saw
Cut right through my I-T band,
Outside of my thigh if you were unsure.

I grimaced and smiled all at once.

Calves, quads, arms, and chest,
The pounding was all the same,
Good power tool relief.

So good…

One word, one word can change a dynamic,
One lousy word.

This humidity made our run feel like a shower,
Heavy legs made walking tempting.
We all talked, taking it easy through the soup
When I casually threw out a joke.

“We should sprint down the hill.”
Sprint was the lousy word.

Only one in the group called my bluff.
Of course it he was the fastest of our group
Maybe more than two minutes per mile faster than me,
Check that, more.

And off we went.

It was supposed to only be down the hill,
But the greyhound decided to push it around the pond.
Towards the end, my lungs were aching, my form lost,
His brow nearly dry.

I’ll never use that word, again.

I was cruising along,
Not a care in the world
No COVID worries,
No indecision by our leaders,

I decided to reach back to my past,
I think I was inspired by a quote I read,
“The past is never gone, “something like that, credit to Faulkner,
But the reach was only a few years ago when CrossFit was my thing
And given that I was not caring today, I decided to try a WOD.

The details of the workout don’t matter,
It kicked my apathetic butt,
So much so that I leashed my dog to a kettlebell,
Grabbed a beach chair, sat with him, and let sweat puddle under me.
Man, did it feel good.

There was no talking about schools,
No political ads,
Nothing to incite any violence.
It was wonderful, peaceful,
Just the way things ought to be.

A quick shower,
A little lunch, some laughter about misinterpreted song lyrics,
And some important historical knowledge dropped my way,
Credit goes to Kareem.
Then came the long, slow afternoon.

Twitter, local news, cable news,
A three-headed monster.
Email, Zoom, scam phones calls,
A brother, sister, or cousin of the three-headed monster.
Aggravation began to set in.

Thankfully, an awesome dinner broke the cycle,
Chicken and mashed potatoes soothe a soul.
Baseball’s on and I’m physically wasted the way I like after HIIT,
Back to not caring about s#%t, and
Waiting for the perfect time to go to bed.

A meeting is excellent motivation. Humidity was approaching 100%, My desire to run outside was lacking. Along came Zoom and off I went. My feet were tapping a newfound beat, My mind was writing an untyped memo, My lungs sifted through the tropical chum, And before I knew it, the run was done. The wreckage of the meeting was still there, of course, But I preferred to rest in the high of the run, To ignore our lack of foresight, To bask in the ache of physicality.

So many dudes challenging for the money,
Younger and middle career types,
The old heads are all out of the running.

A little different than our run this morning
When the youngsters were all sleeping
And us long in the tooth runners were slogging along.

We made our way over the hills,
Around the trees, and through the humidity
In such a laid back manner. Wonderful.

This PGA is anything but relaxed,
The energy high, the competition tight.
Ah, those youngsters… Wonderful.

We walked today,
First, me with my imagination,
Doing math problems in my head
That most would find simple,
But I found a bit difficult
Since the humidity and a snake distracted me.

Later, I went out with my dog,
Out of our neighborhood and he was smiling,
Even trotting a bit, he can be a bit of a show off,
Until we got about half way out
When he realized that this was a proper walk,
Not a stop and stiff every five or six steps.

Either way, the arithmetic folly or the pit bull pull,
I loved being out,
Sticky tropical air spun around with a gathering wind,
Early morning ambitious sun
Followed by the golden hour light.
Walks allow a mind to rest and a soul to sense.

Today, it happened twice.

I’m not sure what to do with Saturdays and Sundays,
Social distancing is supposed to be a thing,
Keeping away, stowed off in the house, protecting all,
And somehow, in a non-viral way,
I have felt worse off, lost without outside contact.
Not that there is anything wrong with my family,
I couldn’t have done the lockdown without them,
But all this time has taught me that I need to socialize,
A little bit.

Hence the Saturday and Sunday dilemma,
To run with a group, not any group, but
The early risers who like to talk and walk more than run
Because the human contact proves to be so much fun,
Like yesterday where we learned of frozen eggs and FedEx
Or today where neighborly compassion
Got a faux ride in the back of a squad car.
Both stories celebrating the goodness in life,
Both stories adding some soul to mine.

Exercise programs should be written in pencil,
Because when it’s time to change them
An eraser is all that is needed.
Pencils don’t exist in my house, so I’ll be crossing things out,
Making some scribbles in a journal that needs to be flexible
For I’m running on the weekends,
Each morning at six with the bunch who stick to their ways,
Spread out on the routes, and
Make the runs more than an exercise in fitness.