the runners

Across the room is the sound of the cat crunching his food. Outside it is cold and tomorrow morning it will be twenty-four degrees and at six a.m. a number of women (some known, some not) will be out braving the cold, running. At ten a.m. another group will go. I will be with neither group, having opted out and instead will be warm and snuggly in bed or baking cookies.

One day I will go with them. One day.

But not tomorrow.

"The trouble with jogging is that the ice falls out of your glass." Martin Mull