Mar
24
I like to think of myself as a fairly open-minded Gentleman. And I’ve seen enough in my fifty-one years to be what some might call a ‘man of the world’. But nothing could prepare me for the jogger I was about to lay eyes upon. There he was, running past my road in a swanky new set of running clothing and not using his arms to jog. And that road was notorious for pot-holes, lumps and bumps. I looked at him again just to make sure I was seeing correctly–and I was. I had never seen such a ridiculous thing as this in real life! It was all I could do to watch him. Possible nightmare scenarios ran through my mind: what if he trips over a stone or his shoelaces–he’ll never get his hands out in front of him in time! What’s he trying to do? Kill Himself? Surely there are better ways (and better ways that don’t require getting a stitch?)
Fortunately the man didn’t fall head first in to the pavement and split his head open and have his brains splash out, but the rest of my walk (I was walking my dog Lenny) was filled with the same repeating nightmarish scenarios, and a sense of foreboding so great that Lenny refused to go to the toilet at his usual spot. And let me tell you that Lenny is trustworthy in the toilet-habits department. That bitch has never let me down yet.
So now I venture out with Lenny with open eyes and careful footing. I prepare myself, every time I leave the house, for the possibility of calling an ambulance and rushing a jogger to hospital. But the question remains: why was he jogging without using his hands? It’s something that is sure to keep me awake at night for a very long time to come–