You know how to skip, right? Just lift one knee and hop on the opposite leg. That lift-hop motion that you alternate—it turns out that, along with a slight lean forward, is proper running posture.
So says the TikTok video I scrutinized and then immediately mimicked, bursting down the hallway to the bedroom and back behind the couch.
I took a less than one mile short run down the road to practice. I myself a break today. I like that I’m exercising regularly these days, and I also like that I don’t have to be a taskmaster with myself. Especially on 80-plus-degree days like today, when I didn’t prioritize running early this morning. Mainly because lazy mornings must have space.
I almost said I’d prioritize running first thing tomorrow, but the weather report is showing a 100% chance of thundershowers. Being dependent on the outside is tricky, and with the “Local Gym” about to open less than a mile from me, the fit seems almost too perfect to pass up.
It’s quiet now. Dave’s in the office on a call with friends, Evelyn’s in bed, the cats that were once chasing and wrestling are not, and the only sounds are the HVAC pushing air and the steady cricket din outside.
I don’t think a window is open. Actually, I know it’s not. Because after seeing the yellowish-green powder coating the front porch’s black side table and railings, Dave and I both knew it was that time.
Pollen time.
Pollen in Georgia is next level. For weeks, it is unrelenting. One day, you clean it off, and the next it’s back just as thick. It was a tad crazy-making last year, so this year I might give up before I even start. Sure, I’ll take the blower to it when I’m already out blasting acorns and leaves away, but knowing I’ve lost the war before it begins may be the better way to go.
Speaking of the blower: buy from Stihl. Please, trust me—they’re top tier in my book.
After putting the wrong gas in the mower, starting it, using it, and promptly causing the engine to seize, I called them. Basically, I was told I was out of luck and my fanciest machine on the market—my proudest possession—was now a scrap of junk.
Dave had an idea to bring it in anyway. Tell them a mini tall tale. Just see if it could be fixed.
Turns out, even though they knew we’d put the wrong gas in—essentially voiding the warranty—there was another part with a defect that had recently been recalled, and ours had the issue. They submitted the claim, installed a new engine, and away we went. All for free! I can start that bad boy with one pull every time now, and so it’s back to keeping the grass areas of this property ouch-free for my bare feet.
Looks like my sourdough English muffin dough rose. I either need to shape them and let them rise again, or put the dough in the fridge until morning.
Which might be best, because the overnight cold ferment is usually recommended. It gives them that English muffin taste we all know and love.
Well, I’d better get to it.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 