I had a bit of the “post-race-lazies” this past week, but I finally managed to drag myself out for my first run yesterday. As I left, I pondered the wind whipping my ponytail around to the front of my head, how I felt like Daffy Duck with his bill spun around, and thought I ought to stay in town today.
But in my heart I knew I really wanted to run out of town, so I paid attention to the direction of the wind. As I circled the block I thought, it won’t be so bad – it’ll be coming at my side on the way back. As I approached the edge of town, my ponytail told me I was right; the grass, trees, and my coat, all told me I was very wrong.
You can guess what happened.
I didn’t have a set distance in my mind when I left, so every step I took away from home I thought, if I go X kilometres further, that will make my total run Y, but every step I took away from home I also knew I would have to retrace into the wind.
You know those bad dreams you get, where you’re running away from something, and you’re running as hard as you can but your legs just won’t respond? When you lean and you strain but you just can’t make much progress? Like you are up to your armpits in invisible peanut butter?
‘Nuff said.
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