We got joggers in this neck of the woods, and now that summer’s here, we’ve got ’em in large numbers. And those fuckers insist on jogging in the street. This morning, I passed three jogging abreast on a major residential artery. Last week I nearly saw one hit by a car bouncing off a particularly deep pothole.
Perhaps you’ve heard of New Jersey traffic. Last I heard—a study about ten years old—Jersey topped the list of the most aggressive drivers. Number one. It’s a lousy environment for joggers who like to play chicken with traffic. It’s also a lousy environment for drivers trying not to kill the bastards, especially if we want to avoid the potholes, too, which sprout like mushrooms after a rain and doubly so under current budget pressures.
Jogging in the street is dangerous. Joggers are pedestrians. They belong on the sidewalk. Cars on street, joggers on sidewalk. Simple.
Wassamatter? Sidewalks are uneven? Bad for jogging? Go to one of our many parks. We’ve got two suitable parks within an easy walk of my house, and a suitable park within ten minutes’ drive of any residential area I know. Going to the park is inconvenient? So is swerving around you twerps. So is hip replacement surgery. So is the insurance risk both jogger and driver take—the jogger willingly, the driver unwillingly. Now get your Nikes the fuck. Off. The road.
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