|Birds nest in a Bradford pare tree.|
|Bruce Mitchell alligator hunter.|
|Ryan McCarty trail runner.|
Running with long hair feels a little tribal. You can imagine yourself, in a past era, chasing down an antelope or nimbly cornering a can of beef-a-roni, before dragging it back to your cave. Now, I am restricted to biking, swimming and the occasional elliptical. Getting a pony tail through a bike helmet requires ambidextrous fingers and creative cursing. In a police line up, its hard to distinguish a bun in a swim cap from a row of suspicious prophylactics. And, swear to Dr. Frank-N-Furter, with your front to the TV you never want to be whistled at by Lou Ferrigno on an elliptical in a gym.
|Last look before the Wahlpocalypse.|
|All that hair was hiding this beautiful face.|
Special thanks to my wife Penny for the new hairdo and unbelievable patience with my serious, but not terminal Peter Pan syndrome. Thanks to you for reading my running blog about everything but running. CROSS TRAIN!