|Amanitas make me happy - looking at them, I mean - not tasting them.|
A few months ago, I noted that Rebecca and I had started running together several times a week. It would be more accurate to say that she prods me on, and I whine, trotting along at a pace barely faster than walking. One could by no stretch of the imagination actually call it running. Meanwhile she runs circles around me just like Leslie did when we took him on country walks. And when I am not there, she runs, runs, runs. Real running. But about six weeks ago, we both had almost simultaneous injuries which slowed us down and necessitated a recovery period. I did something to my hip and she did something to a tendon or two. So it had been a goodly time since we had “run” together. We were a little nervous about how it would go when we recommenced our regimen. The very first time, when she finally managed to coax me into running shoes and out of the house, we went .8 mile, and I thought I was going to die. But gradually we got better, and were going a whole 5K (sounds much more impressive than 3.5 miles, doesn’t it.) I was afraid that after the hiatus, I would have regressed back to .8 or less, and so, she admitted, was she. For several days, I managed to come up with (really) legitimate excuses, but finally, I had none, and we agreed on our restarting date. The morning of, I was hoping that she wouldn’t call to roust me out of bed, and she later confessed that she was a bit hopeful that I would refuse to get up. But I didn’t. Both being a tiny bit anxious about our injuries, we agreed that we would not overdo it. No problem there for me. I never over do it, but Becca has high exercise ideals. So, we are back in the saddle with our fun morning runs. This time we went through Volunteer Park, saw lovely amanitas, rode the camels, and visited the Civil War Cemetery.