The Run

I can’t even begin to count all the times I have gone for a run with my wife. Wait, yes I can, it’s one. I have gone for a run with my wife exactly one time. Once. At the time she wasn’t my wife. We were fairly early on in the dating stage. I knew she run on Sunday mornings with her girlfriends S and L. They even trained for a half marathon together. I no thought, she likes to run, I CAN run, this will be something we can enjoy doing together. It will be our thing. Maybe we will end up traveling the world and see the streets of London and Paris and Milan before sunrise as we wind through the cobblestone streets, with only runners on our feet and a hotel room key in our pockets. I broached the idea of a run and she seemed keen. One thing to note, I had met S and L in person. They are petite women. Although I have never seen itvfirsthand, I imagine they must run the way deer run through an open glade, silently, elegantly, smooth as a gentle breeze. Whereas I, I on the other hand, run like a drunk moose crashing through the forest; plodding, drooling, wheezing, snorting. But then I am not a petite lady, rather an extra sized soul. We ran for about half an hour, got back to our neighborhood and instead of heAding straight back to our apartment, we went out for breakfast. After we rehydrated and started our plate of eggs, she got got this serious look on her face and said; I have something important to tell you. And I stopped eating my eggs, wondering why ids breaking up with me. What did I do? What didn’t I do. And she says “the run was fun” I said “uh huh” She said “ I like doing things together” “ yeah, me too” “I just feel like maybe we shouldn’t do that anymore” “sorry, do what anymore?” “The running””Oh, okay, why”” you know love you, right?””I know”” I don’t want you to take this the wrong way””Okay, I will try”