Semper erit aestas.

24.
New York City.
The vestiges of my American youth.

"For him in vain the envious seasons roll
who bears eternal summer in his soul."
O.W.H.

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Email: caryrandolph [at] gmail [dot] com.

Independent Fashion Bloggers/
Mon Nov 30

Long time, no run.

Last week I received a couple emails inquiring after my recent dearth of running posts.

After my marathon in September I reduced my weekly mileage almost by half. I did so for two reasons: one, I picked up two jobs (one part time and one temp) and no longer have time or energy, and two, I was sick and fucking tired of running.

So I cut back, like a boyfriend might* when his lady gets all up in his grill, and I only made dates (with the trail) twice or three times a week instead of four or five. My Asics looked up at me longingly from my closet floor. “Don’t you love us anymore? You’ve changed.”

“Damn it, sports bra, I need my space!”

I just couldn’t handle the commitment. We didn’t break up, but things got rocky.

And then on Monday night I felt lonely so I dialed the East River promenade and said, “Hey, look, I know I’ve been giving you the run-around (pun!), but I think I’m ready to talk.” So I double-knotted my kicks, threw some Jay-Z in the iPod, and hit the pavement to reclaim my sole-mate (pun!). Ten miles (and some Phil Collins) later, we rekindled the flame.

*The reason I am perennially single probably has a lot to do with the fact that I speak of my running regimen like an errant suitor.

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