PhilYouIn.com

I am a runner. Have been since 1984. I remember reading about the first NYC Marathon back in 1970 and asking my Mom why anyone, much less 127 people, would want to run over 26 miles.

“Because they are meshuga (a little light in the head),” she replied. Made sense.

Well, in the last 15 years I have completed five full marathons and 36 half marathons. I just have to run. When I am training for a race, I must run every other day, regardless of the weather. If I have other things to do, I simply wake up early.

One winter morning about 12 years ago, my day to run turned out to be a windy, 12 degree morning in February. My wife, Nellie, had stopped trying to talk me out of such foolish endeavors years earlier, so off I went, with my runner’s pants tied tight, long sleeved sweatshirt, windbreaker and woolen hat covering my ears.

I had my hands inside a pair of socks, with gloves pulled over them (this was before I discovered runner’s mittens), trying to keep my fingers warm.

Two blocks south to the Belt Parkway, trying in vain to outrun a bitterly cold wind, then east on the Belt bike path towards Queens.

One of my many issues running in such weather is my mouth tends to freeze; I cannot keep anything over it because I exhale through my mouth. Which would then fog my glasses if my mouth was covered.

Anyway, after three miles I ran out of things to think about, so I turned around to make my way home when a short distance in front of me I saw a car pulling off the highway and onto the shoulder. When I reached it, a young couple and their five (?) year old daughter were waiting for me. I stopped. They needed directions to Fourth Avenue, and I was happy to help.

“Toon a-ound at de nes esit (turn around at the next exit),” I tried to say. Man, was my mouth stiff.

As the travelers stared at me with pity in their eyes, I tried to explain my condition.

“Aye oth is foseh ( my mouth is frozen),” I said,

They just looked at me. So I decided to embrace the situation.

“Ew af to guh ack (you have to go back)!” I implored. Buh ay ot uf duh ite lane (but stay out of the right lane)! Ew will en uh on the E-uh-on-oh (you will end up on the Verrazano)!” All the time gesticulating wildly with my arms.

This went on for about five minutes; the parents speaking to me very slowly, me responding in an increasingly indecipherable manner. Finally, the man thanked me, took his daughter by the hand and turned to go back to their car. His wife stood there a bit longer, staring at me with tears in her eyes.

“You did great, honey…” she said, then turned around and got out of the cold. They started to drive off.

I watched, raising my sock and glove covered hand toward the little girl, who was on her knees facing backwards in the rear seat, staring at me through the window. She looked sad and a bit bewildered, watching as each of my glove’s fingerless fingers were blown in a different direction by the bitter wind.

When I got home I tried to tell Nellie all about it.

“Eh-ee! I jus had de ose unnie ting happeh!”

My wife looked at me and said, “Get in the shower. You sound like an idiot.”