The Long Run Up Rayado Mesa -One Writer’s Passage

Installment Three: 6 Monkeys named Yuengling, and MeinTrumpf in Winter

Once again I allowed the monkeys to ride my back last night, sigh…. I mulled over the reality of it somewhat depressedly this morning while setting out on my mid-week run through what I call Lauderdale’s Backcountry.

My first two runs every week are basically maintenance runs, setting the stage for each weekend’s so-called long run. I’m in week five of a 19-week training program for the Oro Valley Half Marathon outside Tucson in late March — having hardly run at all in 2016, due to a plantar fasciitis issue late last year, and then living in Lauderdale’s swamp heat-blech since early July.

Today was run #14. I was kinda hoping to lay down 4 miles averaging 12:30/mile if lucky, using my current 6 min:2 min run/walk cycle a la Jeff Galloway. Felt pretty crappy when I started — perhaps related to the 6 monkeys named Yuengling I heaved onto my back from 4–9p last evening. Started feeling halfway like a runner again about 20 minutes in, during my 3rd run/walk cycle — and ended up laying down the 4 miles in just over 49 minutes, a 12:15/mile pace. Not bad for a 62-year old dude just lacing up his running shoes again after nearly a year off. Of course it made me wonder……..just how much better I might be doing if I stopped strapping a tribe of monkeys onto my back every goddamned night…..

Which brings me back to MeinTrumpf, as I call him, and our pending American winter. I don’t like anything about the fool. I don’t like his hair, his corpulence, his arrogance, his willful ignorance, his bat shit crazy man-crush on Vladimir Putin — or his pussy grabbing misogyny. I don’t like his plastic third wife — I’ve known illegals who speak in less accented English than she does. I don’t like his snotty, privileged, snot-nosed kids, especially his sons with their slicked back hair like they’re auditioning for Gatsby. I don’t like his garish, trashy, tasteless properties. Nor his still-small fingers, nor his puckered anus mouth. I do not like him Sam I am. Claro? Comprende? Dobro! That said, he doesn’t drink alcohol, so in one aspect of his life anyway he’s shown a certain mastery I have not.

Approaching the winter solstice here in South Florida we’re currently having 10 hours, 31 minutes of sunlight. Compare that to Boston (9:06), Seattle (8.27), Denver (9:22), or for that matter Rayado Mesa (9:42). Still, SoFla will not escape the coming MeinTrumpf winter anymore than the rest of the country. In fact, the Twit-In-Chief’s southern palace Mar-a-Lago is a mere 42 miles north of where, monkey laden, I run in the Lauderdale Backcountry. From Maine to Miami, Glacier N.P. to Galveston, Seattle to San Diego — even the sun is fleeing this hemisphere. Headed south of the border. Prior to the Groper-In-Chief installing his oligarchical, revanchist, military-heavy junta in the nation’s capital.

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