CLEVELAND, Miss. — The neighborhood behind the Days Inn appeared more receptive in daylight. Two old men asked me how I was doing. Both called me "sir," which was a kind of weird. My legs felt dead, but I ran slowly enough to compensate. I ran out for 12 minutes, with a pretty stiff south wind at my back, then back for 12:28, and covered 2.2 miles. The temperature was about 60, but I was soaked with sweat when I finished. Later I was told the humidity frequently gets over 100 percent here, like it was this morning. It is a climatological impossibility local meteorologists don't report because they're afraid, I was told.
I reread this and recognized that perhaps as I ran by those old men, my 11-minute-a-mile pace made them think I'm an old man, too. Fuck. I am.
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