Hi Mr. Lawnmower Man. Nice to see you mowing the football field whilst I'm trying to run on the track. 'Trying' is, of course, the key word here. I see that since you make your turns on the track itself, you slow down or speed up in order to avoid occupying the same space and time as me and the other runners, among whom is another, more famous old guy named Ron Ross. We runners do the same, but it's arguably more important that you do. Thank you. I'll be here for well over an hour, as I'm only around eight miles into my planned eighteen-miler today.
The first part of my run had been with friends, and that portion was slightly less mindless. But doing more than half the run alone called for some true mindlessness. So queue the track.
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| Early in the run with some buddies. Nice smile from Ella. |
Somehow, it all works. This was never going to be a stellar long run, even though I've had some decent ones in recent weeks. Yet, it's okay. I manage to pick up the pace as I go lap after lap, mile after mile.
Eventually, I say goodbye to Mr. Lawnmower Man and complete my long run. Not too shabby.
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