Trot, Forrest, Trot

I took up running again after a chocolate-filled hiatus. Last week my longest run was 3.6 miles, this week was 4.4. I know that all you marathon runners are scoffing at me but it was super exciting for a chunky non-marathoner like myself and earned a high five from Matt's dad. I take Toby with me. Not because I want to but because he likes it and needs it. The first reason I don't like running with Toby is that I really feel like he's judging me. He's so excited when we start, barely controlled yelping and furious wiggling. As we begin, he tries to pull ahead. I get the feeling he's thinking: 'Master, when are we going to start actually running? Because what we're doing? Is just trotting. We go out for a trot, Master.'

The second reason I don't like running with Toby is that he gets really marky with everyone else's territory. No mailbox is safe. He evens pees on the same fire-ant pile near the woods every morning. Which is a bold move, but then Toby is a bold dog. Maybe it's a self-esteem issue. Like if we complimented him more and encouraged him to follow his dreams and such he wouldn't feel the need to make all the other dogs feel subservient.


An odd thing on my "runs" around the neighborhood is one of these signs:



I don't know, maybe I'm too sensitive but it seems like we could be a little more politically correct about this. Why slow children?

Watch out! The children in this neighborhood are not the sharpest crayons in the box if you know what we mean...Keep a close eye on your bumper, folks.



While I was walking home during my cool off yesterday, someone in the car leaned out the window and said something to me. I had earbuds in so I couldn't hear them but I assume it was something like:

"Way to go, you!"

"Your hair still looks fabulous, well done!"

"Yay!"


But it was probably more like:

"There's a rabid squirrel behind you."

"Out for a very slow trot, are we?"

"Your shoe's untied."