Our family has been known to go on family runs. All five of us barreling (Can you call it barreling if it happens slowly?) down the sidewalk. Four of us jogging, our daughter on her bike. Don’t call DCFS. We all like running. I’ve been at it for over twenty years now. Our boys run track and cross-country at their school. My husband used to run marathons. And my daughter begs to come along on her bike, which affords us the opportunity to all go together. See? Not as heinous as it sounds. But perhaps not nearly as heinous as we look. And, as you can imagine, we get a lot of looks.
Last weekend on Sunday, you know, the day it was really, really hot, things were not going well for our heroes. Tanya scraped the back of her foot turning around on her bike and was grumpy and emotional the whole way back. I thought I felt the evil grip of plantar fasciitis biting at my right heel again. My husband, feeling especially spry, kept sprinting ahead in the most annoying manner.
After pausing for about the third time to address the hostage situation my daughter had us in (The miniscule scrape on her heel wouldn’t allow her to wear her shoes. She simply must walk.), my son Kyle commented on our particularly miserable outing, “These Zamboni runs just never go well.”
I just about doubled-over laughing. We all did. I mean, “Zamboni Run?” I could not have picked a better way to describe it. It’s exactly what we were. This huge God-awful Zamboni family scraping our way slowly down the street. If only there’d been ice on a day as hot as last Sunday.
After our belly laugh, my husband patiently had Tanya take off her shoe, flatten its heel and then wear it like a clog. Voila. She could ride. My heel calmed down once I got warmed up. And best of all, my husband stopped pacing the pack in an outrageously speedy manner.
We all made it home and drank Gatorade on the front porch like we were part of a TV commercial. My heel was fine. Tanya’s heel felt fine and she even stopped acting so sullen. We all felt good. I just wish I could say the same thing for the dog. It was just too hot, so we hadn’t taken her with us. Talk about sullen. My favorite canine running partner was mad at us for the rest of the day.
But honestly, five people, one bike and a dog? I can’t think of a metaphor to exceed “Zamboni,” and lest you call the Humane Society, I don’t want to find one.
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