“Least compatible occupation: medical illustrator” That was the result of one career assessment I took about a year ago. “No shit,” thought I. Blood, gore, guts, and drawing are not my things. There are further reasons what I should not be a medical professional: a) tendency to get faint where medical procedures are happening, discussed, and/or described (even on the Internet) and b) craptastic bedside manner. The latter was illustrated last night as Tallulah professed to be feeling low and wanted her temperature taken. “Just suck it up, kid” was the extent of my remarks. My Sweet Lady, on returning from her volunteer work at Tallulah’s school, took the girl’s temperature. 100.1. Great, now the day is likely to be shot tomorrow. We’ll see in the morning.
99.6. One full degree. Tallulah is a scholar of school rules, if not a scrupulous follower. She knows that fever means no school. She is sure to blab if we take her anyway. So home bound we are, but given that this is transpiring at 6:20am, I can still get in a run before my Sweet Lady takes off for the morning shift. Jumping in the Bucket, I head for the Valley of Love and delight in the pre-dawn gloaming.
The blanket mill is eerily quiet and no cars are in the lot. I suppose it is a sign of the economic times, but just two years ago, more blankets were produced under this roof than anywhere else in the world. Parking under a solitary street lamp, I head onto the gravel dust paths between twin lakes and the river of the Suwaree. Having forgotten my headlamp, I shun the paths for farm roads. A few car lights sweep the campus above. Climbing to a pedestrian bridge and crossing the road, I start to see students in the growing light.
As I roll back down through the main campus, I can feel the miles of the last few months in my legs. I am entering the zone. This will be the week of weeks, with my mileage pushing somewhere near 50. What will later be revealed to be 40 degrees feels like the perfect temperature for this activity. As I reached the garden path, the rose colored fingers of dawn began to reflect from the golden leaves of autumn. I finished the run with strong strides fueled by crisp clear air. It is for days like this that I run.