Running is not always fun. Sometimes, the legs and joints are sore or tired, making the entire run a drag. Others times, weather extremes (too hot, too cold, too rainy, too muggy) sap one's energy, leaving one much more tired than would be proportionate to the distance and pace of the run. And sometimes, running is just plain boring, especially if one is confined to the treadmill or has run the same route several days in a row.
Yesterday, my run was nearly spoiled by dive-bombing flies.
I don't know what happened on the Wolf River trails between Tuesday and yesterday. Tuesday's run was muggy, but not buggy. Yesterday, though, I spent what felt like half of my run shooing flies, slapping my head and neck, even yelling at them several times (I even shouted, "Get the F off of me!" once; somehow, I did manage to say "F" instead of the actual word). I'm sure I was a sight.
My biggest question, though, is one of airspace and jurisdiction: I know why a fly might be angry when someone runs through its airspace; I don't, however, understand how that same fly could, having its own jurisdiction transgressed, justify following someone for the next quarter mile, dive-bombing him, buzzing his ears. I seem to recall an episode of "The Misadventures of Sheriff Lobo" in which the title character was prevented from chasing an outlaw once he crossed into the next county.
Don't flies watch bad TV, too?
Running log: 7 miles on the Blue and Yellow trails (I walked about a minute of that)
Beer log: Sierra Nevada Glissade Golden Bock, part of the handpicked 6-pack of SN beers given to me for my birthday by my brother and sister-in-law. Perfect for a hot evening.