Catcalls & Unicorns
Catcalls. Pretty much everyone's been the recipient or deliverer of one. I personally love to catcall runners or cyclists if I see them doing hill repeats. I have no ability to exercise restraint when I see someone working a hill! I tap that button on my left armrest that lowers the passenger side window to bellow out: "YOU GOT THIS!!! OWN! THAT! HILL!!!!"
And just to be totally honest, I've been the deliverer of catcalls from my bike as well. Mode of transportation does not hinder me in the least! On a disrespectfully over 100 degree day last summer, I rode by one of those camp gladiator groups in my neighborhood and hollered something about how they looked strong and to beat the heat down, not the other way around. I kind of like being positive and encouraging others. And then, when you marry that with my propensity towards loudness, I'm totes a natural when it comes to catcalls!
A few days ago, I had a 30-minute Zone 1 recovery run on my schedule. So I headed to a neighborhood close to work. And that's when it happened. I came across the magical golden, glitter farting, bubble gum burping unicorn! For a little over a mile the two laned northbound side of the street was closed. Two big ol' huge-gantic lanes of road just ska-reaming for a runner such as myself to take advantage of this non-sidewalkesque offering. I felt like traversing back and forth in the two huge lanes to show the glitter farting unicorn how happy I was with his generous offering. And to top it all off, the sun, already below the horizon was leaving a wake of beautiful orange and pinks and deep reds to make it all seem per....HOLD UP
...from the south bound lane, a passerby yelled out his car window: "run on the f*****g sidewalk." And all of a sudden, BAM! I was back in West Plano again, running a Z1 recovery run sans unicorns that smelled of bubble gum.
My magical unicorn utopia colored by the contrails of Mr. Sun's departure was sullied by some guy's catcall. Some guy who was obviously BLIND (wonder how he was driving what with him being blind and all) because he apparently could not see the fluorescent orange cones and huge white and orange fluorescent signs that said, well, the very helpful two words "ROAD CLOSED". And there wasn't just one....there was a road closed sign at EVERY intersection.
He wasn't even funny. He didn't have a point. He wasn't even ON POINT. Since when did Texas denote a special limited allotment of drivers licenses for visually impaired ninkumpoops? How dare Mr. Poop pauperize (like that word? I found it on Thesarus.com) my adventure in unicorn-ah-pah-loozah. I wasn’t breaking the law (I know this because before Troller McFoulMoutherson rolled by, a cop car had driven past me and smiled and waved) or inconveniencing him, so why even exert the effort to prove his lack of intelligence (and/or sight) by yammerin’ his vitriol out his car window at me?
For a few moments after he and his merry band of off-point, crass and restricted visionaries had passed me I carefully focused my hearing in anticipation of the jarring metallic sounds of his car kharmastically crashing into something. But it didn’t happen. And I don’t believe in kharma. So I continued on until my Garmin marked off thirty minutes. At which time, I slowed to a walk, paused for a brief moment to pay a respectful curtsy to the unicorn, and bid him a warm adieu until we were slated to cross paths again.