Image credit here.
Perimeter meaning the 6 mile patrol road inside the fence of the military installation on which I work, where some half a dozen of us comprise a pool of running “talent” and strive to show up for a noontime run a couple times a week if we can escape our desks. We share a lot and these guys are one of the core pillars of my sanity.
The following is an email I sent to my running buddies the other day. By way of introductory explanation, for some inexplicable reason, I am totally smitten by Chuck Norris jokes. I LOVE them. On the other hand, one of our group (Jack), does not embrace Chuck Norris jokes whatsoever. He is not neutral on the subject: he doesn't like them, doesn't get them, and doesn't think they are funny.
Jack, of course, is dead wrong.
Oh, and "The Horse" is a retired member of our group, with a build like a linebacker but still a very good runner.
This one is especially for Jack, since he no doubt has been on Chuck Norris deprivation during his recent cruise with the lovely bride. Jack, I know you declared a CN moratorium but I BEG you to make an exception in this case and view the attached photo.
Obviously (and sadly), the dog, of course, did not survive the roundhouse kick.
I am on travel this week to the Springfield VA area, and tonight--in honor of The Horse--I elected to stay at the hotel and enjoy a couple beers rather than try to run on streets around this god-forsaken semi-urban hellhole.
My apologies to any readers who live, work, or run in the greater DC area. When I use the term "semi-urban hellhole" it only means in contrast to my rural existence, where running on the rural roads around my home, I usually encounter maybe 1 car per mile.