So today I had a nice plate of lunch over at a Kosher Dining Hall that’s hidden in the back chambers of an already existing Dining Hall. You take a couple steps up through an archway, take a left, wash your hands, and your in. It was fine, I suppose. I enjoy onion rings. But then I figured to go on home and take in some studying. About ten minutes into sitting on my ass I realized that I was hungry again, and remembering what I had leftover of my Hurricane Provisions, made a salted peanut butter & agave sandwich. I don’t know why I had it, in fact I resented it the very moment I finished eating it. I hated the pastiness that sunk to the bottom of my stomach and I hated the fact that I’d made it on potato bread; I hate saying ‘potato bread’, it makes me feel like I’m an angry Beluga reciting the alphabet in reverse, ‘POE-TAY-TOE‘.
So I figured the only way to make up for the sudden impulse was to go for a run along the West River. In 35 degrees. I had a cotton hoodie, some gym shorts, and breathable socks, so I figured I wouldn’t need much else so long as I ran fast and warmed up before I darted out the door. So I did a couple of push ups and jumping jacks in my room, plugged in my headphones (‘Couleurs’ by M83 is my GO-TO start up song), skipped a bit in the lobby and darted out.
The wind hit me in the face like a thousand knives.
I wish I could’ve come up with a better metaphor than that, but I remember Jack Dawson in ‘Titanic’ saying that to Rose right before she nearly slipped off the back of the ship. I guess the phrase stuck with me and I’m always looking for an excuse to use it- that one, and ‘LET GO OF HER, YOU BITCH!’ – as said by Ripley. In Aliens. To the Alien Queen. Who’s taken Newt’s taken for dinner.
So I’m running.
And I turn onto West Street and I’m thankful that I let the hair on my legs grow. And there is NOBODY on the running path with me. I’ve got M83 blasting in my ears and I’m constantly pushing my headphones back into my ears- they’ve been slipperier than usual because of the Red Wine from last night. So the pressure of me pressing them in constantly starts to ache and I stop to take my headphones off. I wrap them up, and tuck them into my pocket, and set out again.
I’m excited now because I can finally hear my footsteps on the pavement, and I’m able to set rhythm to my breath. And the buildings are coming closer and I’m on my own and I’m exerting enough energy that finally, I don’t even feel cold anymore.
All of a sudden, this guy crosses from the other side of the street and starts running on the path, right in front of me. And I’m like, ‘okay, yeah, that’s fine, no worries, i’ll just pass him in a bit’.
But this guy, this ass, he’s running just fast enough that I can’t outrun him without outdoing myself and slow down in consequence (thus, look like an absolute DICK), so I just stay right behind him. He looks backs a couple times and I whip my head back and forth, pretending to look at the Freedom Tower or Jersey City across the water.
Finally, I decide to slow down and walk for a while. Just ahead, HE decides to slow down too, like, ARE YOU KIDDING ME!? And so then he turns around and he sees me walking now that he’s walking even though I was walking before he was walking and he stops and asks me, ‘Is there a problem or something?’
‘Excuse me?’ I ask, tears running down my cheeks because of the air (that stabs).
‘Is there a problem. You couldn’t pass me, and now you stop when I stop?’
This guy was on top of shit.
‘I slowed down before you did, I’m sorry.’
‘Well, STOP IT!’
I smile and I take off. Continuing to run on ahead while he stretches a bit more at the place where he yelled at me in the darkness. I ultimately make a left turn to follow along the pier and see that he’s coming up right behind me. I was irritated, but I was also sneering- it’s bad to stretch mid-run. He’s gonna bust his kneecaps.
And we just keep running. At one point, as I’m heading back, he’s just heading right past me to (probably) stretch again. He shakes his head and snaps, ‘Don’t even.’ I shake my head and the guy flips me off with both of his middle fingers. And I mean, they were strong and intense, like Rockets, I was actually impressed.
No problem. I sigh and rush back to my apartment, though this time, the wind’s against my favor, so my hands are like tiny, little frosty nubs by the time I get home.
It’s because of a peanut butter sandwich that I met this man. And I wouldn’t have wanted it to go any other way. Thank your carbs ladies and gentlemen. Embrace the hell out of them and let em’ drive you to the places where the air is cold and the dipsh*ts soar.
Good Monday. I’m gonna blitz my stomach with sandwiches more often, maybe add some jelly and see what happens.