Over the past week, I’ve been on a poetic roll. Like everything else in my life, they seem to come in streaks, with several hundred Suess-like attempts on this site alone. (See Poem Category). He’s my favorite and I often try to emulate the humor in his work. Every once in a while I get it right. I thought about this as I was running this morning, another streak that I’m proud to write about – 4,132 consecutive days and counting. In addition, it’s the morning after my wife and I celebrated our nineteen-year marriage streak. In the process, I broke a 33-day alcohol-free streak with a bottle of 2013 Imagery Estate Tempranillo in honor of the occasion. 

I guess you could describe me as a “Streak Freak” – loyal to the cause. It’s perhaps because I’m habitual in my ways – cautious of change. However, that’s not what first came to mind when I thought of myself as a “Freak.” It was the fact that I felt like something out of a Mummy movie – potentially all wrapped up in “bandages” to make it through my run. I’ve been really struggling of late with circulation issues in my feet and legs, making the daily run really uncomfortable. I described it poetically as both “Concrete Feet” and “Cement Slippers.” I’m not sure how I’ve been able to avoid any knee problems. I’ve experimented with shoes, medication, and more stretching. This morning I tried wearing some compression socks. They seemed to help stimulate blood flow in my feet and calves, but my thighs were still very stiff. Consequently, I just ordered some copper compression sleeves to support my sore thighs. Soon, my legs will look like sausages, held together with casings. Once I eventually add upper-body support, I will certainly look like a mummy. Hopefully, I won’t have to wear a mask by then, too!

All this talk of leg wraps is making me feel very old and vulnerable. I can’t help but think of my dad needing assistance with his compression socks. He even had a device to help squeeze his swollen ankles into the support hose. This is why I specifically looked for the word “Sports” when I ordered mine. After all, sports-related injuries were always preferable to just-plain-dumb accidents, at least for me. Any time I can feel like an athlete rather than an old man is a win. For example, I remember marathon weekend softball tournaments when my body was so scraped and sore that all the bandages and tape looked like a bad drywall patching job. Those were the days when a little pain felt good. Now, unfortunately, I’m just feeling wounded without even a battle. 

What I need is another “Streak” of youth. There has to be one more left in me. I drank a Monster energy drink the other day, hoping that it might be the “Fountain” I was seeking. The only thing it added was a couple extra trips to the bathroom, a place I visit often enough already any more. I’m now the “Mummy Monster,” running around like a freak in un-stylish, knee-socks. Fortunately, the downtown streets of Portland, crowded with the homeless, is not exactly a fashion runway. It used to be that I could slip on a t-shirt, shorts, and shoes to effortlessly hit the road. Anymore, I’m adding cumbersome layers of compression to my workout outfit in order to continue my Freakin’ Streak.