Thursday, October 15, 2009
My friends The M’s, of the Altadena M’s, know many things, but music isn’t one of them. Still, that didn’t stop The M’s from installing a wall of sound across half their living room -- or a potential wall of sound, since they never use it.
I told Mrs. M to, you know, actually play some music one day, and she and her husband did their best. They made several tries, and lights blinked, and jets roared, but no liftoff. By then dinner was getting cold, so we just gave up. All the CD’s were still in cellophane anyway. Really, anything more than a clock-radio is overkill for these two.
Funny how often people confuse having with doing, owning with knowing. You see it on the tennis court all the time. Those in the cute little Italian Lotto outfits and two-toned shoes, going through a series of warm up exercises. They’re guaranteed moon-ballers, bound to disturb your game with their “Ball please!” “Sorry, ball again please!” Then they’ll go mucking around in your court, looking for the ones with seven dots, when all they have to do is find the ones that still have fuzz.
In any discipline, you should earn your way up the equipment ladder. Prove you can serve with a Sear’s racket, as it were, before snapping on the Federer bandana. And please, the spandex clamdiggers? Do you really think we’re saying, “Honey, over there -- Is that Herbert Bumblechook or Raphael Nadal?”
I practice what I preach. For example, at yoga class, I still bring my beach towel instead of a regulation mat. One day, when people stop asking whether this is my first time, I might upgrade.
On the other hand, M -– of the Clock-Radio M’s -- has a different explanation. She believes I’m just really, really cheap.
Is that why I’m so smitten with the idea of barefoot running? Barefoot running is sweeping the nation. Or it’s sweeping California. Or maybe it has only swept a little part of L.A. At any rate, current theory has it, those incredibly expensive running shoes were nothing but a scam, and a dangerous one at that. Putting weight here when it should be there, responsible for back, hip and leg injuries.
I’ll buy that, since it costs nothing at all. I’ve been out there running nude, totally nude, from the ankles down for the past week. And for the most part, it feels nice. I’ve yelped and shrieked a few times along the way, but I think it’s pretty cool. Who counts your miles, measures your speed when you look impressive? I think people are saying, “Is that Karin Bugge or a really pale marathoner from Kenya?”
Labels: barefoot running