What am I doing running down U.S. 224 with a cell phone in one hand and my driver’s license in another?
This isn’t part of my triathlon training, that’s for sure. Rowan texted me that she needed a ride after school, and since I wasn’t going to be around to provide one, I decided to drop the van and keys off and then run back home.
I started to grab my purse for this errand, then realized I’d have to carry it with me if I did. So I extracted my driver’s license — which hasn’t yet caught up to my new physique — and took off.
In a world without insurance company overlords, Rowan could just walk the 1.3 miles home. But at a rural school on a highway with no sidewalks, students aren’t allowed to walk or bike en route.
I’m not really miffed by this hiccup in my day, despite the fact I’ll probably not have time to change out of my running clothes before it’s time to take the younger girls to drama class. It’s only a mile and some change; how sweaty can I possibly get? (I’m not my sister, after all!)
This is actually kind of fun. As usual, I somehow managed to find a way to tweak the mundane reality of my experience with some overinflated imaginary coating. This kinda feels like the middle-aged mom version of a story I edited over the weekend about a surgeon at that tornado-whacked hospital in Joplin, Missouri, last year.
Desperate to check on his family, he hacked off his scrubs to convert them into shorts so he could run the 4 miles to his house. The streets were so devastated and strewn with debris he figured it would be quicker to run than to drive. Afterward, he ran back to the hospital.
I like knowing that if I were in a similar situation, I’d be capable of doing that. (Running 4 miles home to check on my family — not operating on someone.)