Scared Rabbits

Thanksgiving Eve. Pitch black. Low sky. The wet snow waltzed in the night and the dance floor was a slushy mess. With trail shoes strapped to my feet I forged westward with the snow stinging my eyes. My headlamp beams bounced off the precipitation like a car with its high beams on in a snowstorm.

People were out today and so were the animals. The tracks in the snow looked like they had played an epic game of football. It was hard to tell but it appeared that the dogs, deer and rabbits defeated the hominids 27-24 on a last-second field goal by Thumper. That dude can kick!

Trudging on past the stadium I did scare a hare. It's tail bobbed furiously in flight from me before it ducked into a bramble. It reminded me of my basketball coach in High School that would occasionally admonish us to stop "playing like scared rabbits."...always thought a scared rabbit would be difficult to guard; maybe a caffeinated squirrel could get the job done, but even so I think the scared rabbit would pour in about 30. He should have told us to play like scared rabbits.

Pinheads, pundits and talking heads droned on all day about how the night before Thanksgiving was the busiest party night of the year. I took this into consideration at all road crossings. I had to work Thanksgiving but was already looking forward to the comical, usually drunken aftermath. One Thanksgiving I sat in a deserted parking lot in the early morning hours probably trying to figure out that pesky last word on the Jumble when a disheveled youngster approached me.

"Dude, do you know the number to a cab company."
"Sure, DUDE, 2323232."
"Sorry, I mean officer. Thank you sir," he said and trundled off with phone in hand. He made it about 15 feet and turned and yelled.
"Where am I?"

It was that part of the run, oh about 45 minutes in, when the mind got bored and tired. Was in fact my iPod collection the most eclectic ever? If I were to put it on shuffle at a party would people stop eating their pigs-in-a-blanket in wild-eyed amazement at its sheer genius? Would they wonder, no, demand, to know who put together such a collection as they slammed their Champagne on the table? Who indeed would put Josephine Baker, Mozart, Fuel, Johnny Cash, Simple Minds and the Outfield on one mix? No one but me, that's who! I am great!

I snapped out of that long-run-induced delusion long enough to realize that my iPod mix wasn't better than anyone else's and that mine was probably quite boring and if played at a party it might clear it out quicker than a backed-up toilet. It reminded me of a quote from a buddy of mine.

"Remember you are unique. Just like everyone else."