With daylight savings time change, the running trail also switched from night to day. Whereas the after-work crowd was hot but sparse, Monday the trail was a bounty of beautiful, beautiful men.
Jenna and I hit a lazy jog and worked our way through just 2 miles of the course. Since she's officially in a relationship with Government Mule (she accepted his Facebook relationship request last week), I claim dibs on all the pretty boys.
We've developed a pattern: run with one earbud in, leaving the other ear open for commentary. I adopted the ancient Roman gladiator method of ranking the runners: a solid thumbs up when one passes us.
"I've been thinking," I puffed. "I'm not a good enough runner to be approached by one of these guys; it's not like he's going to slow his pace and sidle up next to me and say, 'Nice form.' I think the only shot I have is to fake an injury."
"Ha!" she laughed. "You know that fire station in front of my townhome? My friend told me to lay in their driveway with an 'injury' to get the firefighters' attention."
Another yummy one passed us. I stuck my thumb up.
"Maybe you should push me down. Make it look more realistic."
"She was beating me!" Jenna faux exclaimed.
Just then, the yummyest one I've seen by far passed us. I crossed over in front of Jenna and came to a dead stop. "Push me down!," I hissed. "Push me down!"
Jenna bumped into me as she tried to stop. She broke out into a fit of giggles. "It's too late! It's too late! He's already in front of us!"
"Yeah, my luck that guy would stop to help me."
Approaching from the other side of the woods was a middle-aged man walking with a full-size Macaw perched on his shoulder. The parrot was so large that its tail feathers trailed all the way down to the man's knees. As we passed them we crinkled our noses, not from the stench of the bird, but from the sheer amount of cologne the man was wearing.
I'm looking forward to spring.