ahream

Husband: “Did you run through...what is that?...mud?”

Me: (back from a 24-mile run and sitting up to my waist in an ice bath in the vain hope I’d be able to walk the next day – and perhaps a tinsie-tiny bit ill humored) “NO, I did not run through mud.”

(Subtext: “It hasn’t rained in L.A. for 10 months, you goober brain.” I consider it a great show of personal strength – under the circumstances – that I did not say this out loud.)

Husband: “Well, if it’s not mud...”

Me: “It’s not poop!”

Husband: “Then what is it?”

Me: “Road bogeys.”

Husband: “Uh huh.” (In a great show of personal strength, he didn’t say what he was thinking out loud either.)

Me: “It is!”

Okay, I have an elaborate pre-run ritual that mostly involves rubbing every clothed part of my body down with Body Glide, Vaseline, chicken fat, motor oil. that stuff that congeals on top of cold beef stew, anything and everything to keep the dreaded chafing at bay. Chafing being a nice word for “to feel as if your skin has been removed with a belt sander.”

The thing is the goop tends to attract...stuff. Sand. Dirt. Dog hair. Grass. Gnats. And it all sort of mixes together after about 20 miles into something resembling – okay, maybe mud. But definitely not poop. We need to be clear on this. Not. Poop. Road bogeys. Street snot. Earth mucus.

Meanwhile, back in the ice bath:

Husband: “I’m just saying it sort of looks like...”

Me: “I will shove an ice cube up your nose, you know.”

ahream Dispatches from the City of Angels I'm a mystery writer living in and writing about Los Angeles. You can catch my short story, "Running Venice," in the new anthology LAndmarked for Murder. Look for it in bookstores and on Amazon.com now. In the meantime, feel free to poke around. Over at my website you can find even more blog entries than I could fit here, as well as a few other ramblings. Enjoy and come back often.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (1) Most Recent Twitters: A 3-foot long alligator was found walking down the middle of the street in Venice Beach this morning. I love L.A. In case you were wondering, it is very difficult to get a hummingbird out of your house. They are irrational and prone to hysterics. L.A. Finds: The Nickel Diner on Main between 5th and 6th is a made-to-look-old, throwback of a place that melds into the old downtown and is, at the same time, part of the renaissance. They serve their burgers medium, their soda in bottles and offer all they can to locals in need. Flickr Updates: The second Thursday of every month is the Downtown Art Walk. The galleries stay open late, the restaurants are packed, bands perform on the streets. God, I love L.A. What I'm Reading: Attack of the Unsinkable Rubber Ducks by Christopher Brookmyre What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami Want E-Mail Updates? Click here, type your e-mail address into the first field (for public entries) and receive an e-mail note each time a new blog post goes up. (Photo updates, Twitters and "L.A. Finds" features not included. Those you have to swing by and check yourself.) Absolutely, positively no spam. Promise. Other author blogs: Sue Ann Jaffarian Eric Stone Christa Faust Lipstick Chronicles		2006-11-07 11:33 AM Road bogeys Husband: “Did you run through...what is that?...mud?” Me: (back from a 24-mile run and sitting up to my waist in an ice bath in the vain hope I’d be able to walk the next day – and perhaps a tinsie-tiny bit ill humored) “NO, I did not run through mud.” (Subtext: “It hasn’t rained in L.A. for 10 months, you goober brain.” I consider it a great show of personal strength – under the circumstances – that I did not say this out loud.) Husband: “Well, if it’s not mud...” Me: “It’s not poop!” Husband: “Then what is it?” Me: “Road bogeys.” Husband: “Uh huh.” (In a great show of personal strength, he didn’t say what he was thinking out loud either.) Me: “It is!” Okay, I have an elaborate pre-run ritual that mostly involves rubbing every clothed part of my body down with Body Glide, Vaseline, chicken fat, motor oil. that stuff that congeals on top of cold beef stew, anything and everything to keep the dreaded chafing at bay. Chafing being a nice word for “to feel as if your skin has been removed with a belt sander.” The thing is the goop tends to attract...stuff. Sand. Dirt. Dog hair. Grass. Gnats. And it all sort of mixes together after about 20 miles into something resembling – okay, maybe mud. But definitely not poop. We need to be clear on this. Not. Poop. Road bogeys. Street snot. Earth mucus. Meanwhile, back in the ice bath: Husband: “I’m just saying it sort of looks like...” Me: “I will shove an ice cube up your nose, you know.” Read/Post Comments (1) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top