I don’t know if you noticed, but the subheading on each month’s Smoke Signals has been the title of a mail-related song. There was ‘Take a Letter Maria’ by R.B Greaves, ‘Return to Sender’ by Elvis, and ‘Please Mr. Postman’ by The Marvelettes. This month, we’ve gone with a more obscure number by American soul singer Jerry ‘The Iceman’ Butler. ‘Hey, Western Union Man’ was the second single from Jerry’s eleventh solo album, The Ice Man Cometh (1968), which sounds too badass for a soul record. Anyway, you should give The Ice Man Cometh a listen (it’s excellent) and then write Jerry a letter to tell him how much you liked it.
Jerry ‘The Iceman’ Butler
627 E 33rd Pl.
Chicago, IL 60616-4143
USA
Let’s get into this month’s mail from the POSSESSED readers!
Dear POSSESSED,
As a man blessed with small thumbs and a love of running, my favorite technological advancement was Velcro. Remember when all the big brands were bringing out Velcro shoes? What happened to that? There were a few good years before Big Laces™ stepped in and put an end to it. Why have young runners just accepted the two-lace solution?
Regards, Ryan
Denton, TX
This was a topic brought up last issue in our interview with Matt Lenehan. It does seem weird that Velcro is out of the athletics picture. You’d assume that locking your foot down with Velcro would be better than laces, but somewhere along the way, Velcro lost favor with everyone but children, the elderly, and Lebron. To be honest, Velcro straps kinda look like shit, but maybe someone cool and influential could bring them back? Has Jacob Sartorius taken up running yet?
—Ed
Dear POSSESSED,
Thoughts on Strava? They're learning a hell of a lot about us. Too much?
Dion
Cleveland, OH
Hey Dion, don’t sweat it. We’re all getting tracked whether we’re on Strava or not. I’m more worried that no matter how many times I say ‘hellish dystopian shit-fire’ in conversation, I never get served ads for Bug-Out Bags.
—Ed
Dear POSSESSED,
I’ve found myself in a sticky situation and hope that you might have some advice. After a long break (thirteen years), I recently started running again. I’d been a gifted junior cross-country runner but work and life had pushed all that to the side. It’s a tale as old as time, a song as old as rhyme: middle-aged business guy starts running again. I was slow. Really slow. That wasn’t a problem as I'd only taken up running again for fitness reasons, so had no real reason to push the pace… until I saw her. Everything changed.
I was doing my usual circuit when she first ran past me. She was like something out of a nature documentary. I could almost hear David Attenborough describe her effortless stride. I was smitten. From that day forward, every time I went out for a run, I hoped we would cross paths. I saw her more and more, but she didn’t see me. The rabbit begrudgingly acknowledges the hare, but the cheetah does not see the turtle. I did some snooping and found her Strava profile. No surprise, she was a longtime ‘local legend’ on many segments, most of them in my area. This got me thinking about ways that I might get her attention. I’m not proud to say this, but I discovered a way to cheat the Strava system.
I won’t go into it for obvious reasons, but it involves riding an electric scooter and jiggling an old sock full of coins. Using this method, I was able to become the record holder on all her routes. Although she looks like an angel, she is still human: of course she took notice. Long story short, we started dating soon after. Since then, I have been faking shin splints and we have not run together. She’s been rubbing my feet and not asking questions, and it has been a perfect relationship. A few weeks ago, though, she mentioned that one of my Strava records had been broken. I didn’t think anything of it. Since then, one by one, all 67 of my records have fallen and my girlfriend keeps mentioning it. Yesterday, while I was walking our cockapoo along an old running route, a good-looking guy zipped past me on a scooter with a sock full of coins hanging out his back pocket. He smirked and winked at me. He was going very fast. Should I be worried?
Signed, Worried.
Barcelona
Dear Worried. Yes.
—Ed
