I don’t get this whole
notion of jogging or running for health.
If a zombie or Dick Butkus is chasing me, OK, I’m running to save my life. Otherwise, stay calm and keep a steady pace.
Maybe I act differently
on my bike; you’d have to ask the people I pass by. I admit to trying to push myself the other
day on a 57-mile ride. The first and end
parts of the trail go through forest preserves, much of the rest on streets and
sidewalks. If you don’t stay focused,
you’ll never finish, and some guy in a Subaru will try to run you off the road. If this makes me sound like I’m running a
marathon, so be it.
Anybody who wants to
run, I say let them. What bothers me,
though, is people jogging with their dogs on a leash. Did their animal come up to them and
say: I’d really love to do five miles
with you in the heat and humidity. And
don’t worry about me not being able to cool off by sweating the way you humans
do. I’m a dog, your-ever obedient
friend.
Is there anything
dumber or meaner than running with a dog?
Until yesterday, I would’ve said, No, but I now stand corrected. I saw a clown—I’m using the word in full, South-Side
derision—riding his bike with his dog following on a leash. This is wrong on so many levels. If our pets ever do rise up and rebel against
us, it will be on account of runners and cyclists who abused them.
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