Having 8 miles to complete at my slothy pace gave me plenty of time to observe the people around me. Plus, focusing on others drew my attention away from the fact that my feet felt as if attached to blocks of concrete disguised as shoes.
Here are my observations from this morning:
While others were smiling at the robins and the playful chipmunks darting across the trail, I'd be grimacing and dodging the little assholes.
Even though it was a chilly 37 degrees, I was pouring sweat and beet red in the face. By contrast, the other runners I saw were dry skinned with just a gentle splash of pink across their cheekbones. How everyone else was just barely flushed at double my pace, I'm not sure. But it could be because...
The foot strikes of my fellow trail blazers were feathery; they made not a sound. My footfalls on the pavement basically shook the very foundation of the earth. The others glided past and opposite me, their feet landing and then lifting their lithe bodies up and propelling them forward, as if they were running on the surface of a trampoline. My stride being far more more ploddish, seemed to sink into the pavement. I had to yank each foot forward as if there were gum wads attached to my soles. It's possible that...
These trail beauties all weigh in at 120-some pounds and so their gazelle-like legs can easily handle the slightness of their upper bodies. I've thrown 50 extra pounds into the mix, so my poor hooves and joints have more to handle. I am a moose. This was particularly noticeable when...
I paused when needed (mostly the tops of hills), and gulped down water while hunched over, hands on my knees. My counterparts would take a quick swig from their Camelbacks while running in place and checking their various fitness devices for split times. I felt fairly accomplished not because I was setting any records, but because I'd actually completed some serious mileage without shitting myself.
It's the little things.
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