Guys at the coffee shop this morning: "Freezing fog again! Never seen so much freezing fog! Must be the global warming!"
Gals at the coffee shop this morning: "Ditto!"
Women who were born men at the coffee shop this morning: "Ditto!"
Men who were born women at the coffee shop this morning: "Ditto!"
People descended from at least 17 various races and ethnicities... "Ditto!"
Since I'm one of those goofy bastards who not only knows how to look up the comprehensive local weather history but has also been recording the weather on a daily basis for more than a decade, I happen to know that freezing fog in February is quite common. On average we've seen freezing fog seven times each February over the last 126 years. For those keeping score at home, that's one out of every four days, and January and March boast similar numbers.
Does it matter? No, not really. Most of those conversations are just morning placeholders as people shake off their overnight lethargy and charge up on legal and socially acceptable drugs.
Do they really believe what they're saying? Do they even care if they believe it? Again, probably not. It's just noise and filler. There's always a lot going on in coffee shop conversations. Gossip and deals and arrangements and touching base.
If the new green wave of social justice rolls over them, takes all their stuff, and moves them into labor/reeducation camps will they understand what's happening, why it's wrong, and what to do to save themselves?
No chance. They'll just shuffle aboard the train, and future historians will wonder why they didn't put up a fight.
Is the new green wave of social justice likely to happen? Probably not.
But in my estimation it's a lot more likely than it would have been five years ago.
I hammered out a five-miler this morning with an emphasis on sprints. I threw in 50 flights of stairs for a bonus. It was a good one.
When I crawled out of bed before the sun I knew, as I know most mornings, that there would just be no way I'd be able to work out. Too old, too tired, too stiff and sore. But as always (at least so far), once I got moving and got the juices flowing my body walked itself over to the workout gear and dressed appropriately.
One motivating factor was the weather report. We're supposed to see high winds today and tomorrow and I hate working out in the wind. Especially if it's a cold wind. As I set out the wind was out of the south and quite cold, but it was also only about 5-6 mph. Better by far to hit it before the gale arrives.
Nona went with me part of the way and acted like she was feeling pretty spry. The aspirin seems to help, but in addition to that the vet said to keep her from going too far and too hard. Therefore my first two miles were a circuit that ended back home, where I delivered her before cranking out the last three miles. We'll see how she responds.
If the 7:1 ratio of dog years per human years is approximately true Nona will catch and pass me in age by the time her eighth birthday rolls around in July. She doesn't do anything by half measures, her motor is either off or at full speed. She doesn't associate physical exertion and activity with the pain that comes later, and she'll just keep on going as long as I keep on going.
*I wuz rong! She'll only be 56! Damme spring chicken! But better at math than me!
As I continue to take the fitness path, I continue to learn what works and what doesn't, what causes and what eases the post-workout aches and pains. I get to decide what I will and will not do. Nona doesn't have any of that, so I have to figure it out for her. It's little enough price to pay in return for all the joy she shares with me.