So, here’s how that run I mentioned earlier today worked out: Continue reading “Saturday Morning Coffee Update: Cupid’s Crawl 5k”
Saturday Morning Coffee Update: Cupid’s Crawl 5k
Saturday Morning Coffee
Welcome, friends! I see the early morning thunderstorm didn’t put off your visit. And I’m glad, for now the sun is shining and the coffee hot, even if the ground is still wet. Continue reading “Saturday Morning Coffee”
Monday Morning Grievance: Split & Run
That’s why people run in marathons: to take in big gulps – huge breaths of air – and get it all back, get back all those memories of when you were a child.
– Garrison Keillor
Three Limericks, Animal Style
Wait, Wait . . . Don’t Tell Me! has the Listener Limerick Challenge. This is like that, except totally different. Continue reading “Three Limericks, Animal Style”
Just Like a New Pair of Shoes
Blogging and running have more in common than you might think. Continue reading “Just Like a New Pair of Shoes”
Jabberwocky
I find the poem “Jabberwocky” to be quite conducive to keeping a steady running pace. I present it here for your enjoyment:
from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There
Jabberwocky
by Lewis Carroll
‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal sword in hand;
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.
‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Running In My Head 