What happens to a cowboy when his hat accumulates too much snow? That’s the mix we’re seeing. More and more steel toed boots and wide brimmed hats are riding the metro these days. And the good lord almighty, our saviour, a proud american, decided to dump a few inches of the white stuff on us.
So what did we do? We ran. 40 minutes around the city. Asa met Mark and I at my house then we trucked along the progressive sidewalks of Mt. Pleasant, over hispanic laden Columbia Rd., and down the urban chic 18th St into the Dupont area where the Republicans were dressed to be seen and happy to sparkle.
We said bye to Asa at his office just off the circle then slid our way down a wooded path into Rock Creek Park. Yep, just me and Mark, running in mild darkness under the quiet, snow dressed archways of winter branches, following the cross country ski marks along the path wedged between creek and parkway.
As always, we had to go uphill to get back to 1745 Park Rd. The ingrediants of grade, cold air, and my lingering cough came together in another body wrenching, dry heaving seizure performance. Funny how the girl who walked by let out a giggle and not an offer of assistance or even a glance of empathy. Ah well, progressiveness takes many forms. I mean, at least it wasn’t a Texas snarl and contemptuous request for my quarantine.