Frozen Jogger (photo by Let Ideas Compete)

words by David Spalding & John Dwyer
Sung by Stewart Hendrickson

with Jerry Middaugh, guitar
Recorded on "Songs of the Pacific Northwest"

A parody based on The Frozen Logger by James Stevens.
Published in the Canadian Folk Bulletin Vol 20, No 2., p. 4.
"I wrote this in Edmonton at the height of the jogging craze,
when people were really padding off into the snowy night,
though not perhaps at 45 below. (The coldest I ever experienced,
with wind chill, was -57). The Stanley Park reference was intended
as an indication of how far the errant jogger had wandered."
David Spalding, © Brandywine Enterprises B.C. Ltd.

The last 5 verses by John Dwyer turned this into a broken-token song.

As I ran out one evening, along the snowy street,
A warmly bundled housewife I happened there to meet.

She said, You are a jogger, for this I surely know,
That no-one but a jogger wears shorts at ten below.

My husband was a jogger, the greatest of them all,
He jogged in spring and summer, in winter and in fall.

Had breakfast on the sidewalk, and lunch along the path,
And every night at midnight, he’d jog up to his bath.

He left for work one morning, the weather cold and clear;
He’d gone before I realized he’d left his sweater here.

Ten times I phoned his office to see if he’d arrived,
His secretary told me she feared he’d not survived.

The weather turned still colder, to 45 below,
And somewhere still my husband was jogging in the snow.

He never reached his office, he never came back here,
I fear he must have wandered for many a weary year.

He never sent a letter, nor phoned me after dark.
But once there was a rumor he was seen in Stanley Park.

Each evening after sunset, I sit here in my seat,
Still hoping that my husband will come jogging down the street.

That’s how I lost my husband, the greatest and the best,
But he’s been gone for ages, so come in and take a rest.

(Additional Words by John Dwyer)

I reached into my pocket, still gazing at her face,
And in her outstretched fingers, I placed a broken lace.

Remember, dear, this token, that we did cut in twain,
So you would truly know me, when I returned again.

So show me now your token, my love, I beg you,
That I may know you surely, and that you have been true.

At that she sobbed, heartbroken, I can’t, alas, alack,
I used it just last Tuesday, to tie the garbage sack!

O faithless one, I shuddered, how could you use me so?
So once again I turned and went off jogging through the snow.

Pacific Nothwest Folklore Society