Cowboy Hazel

I received an interesting compliment today. As I was walking home from an afternoon run along the East River, an older woman who lives a couple houses down asked how my run went. I said it was good, commented on the nice weather. "You run a lot," she said. "Yeah, I try to." "I've seen you out running in the city and you run so beautifully." I chuckled, mumbled a thanks. She continued, "It seems like you glide, like you're not even putting any effort into it." I smiled, wiped the sweat off my forehead with my sleeve, "There's effort. Trust me."

I probably wouldn't have mentioned if it weren't for an email I received around the same time; I always appreciate irony. After taking a shower and grabbing a protein shake, I sat down at my computer and saw that the photos from this weekend's Scotland Run had arrived in my inbox (you can see them here). There were only three, and they all show me in obvious agony near the end of the race getting passed by two other runners. Nothing beautiful there. Nothing beautiful at all.