When the young boy and I reached the track, it felt just right. Here, again, together.
The track gang was going to join me today for the 400s. The young boy would do alternate repetitions. We began after a quick and effective warm up.
I started off too fast and aggressively and I felt it in the later repetitions. Towards the end, I had entirely lost my rhythm and must have looked like a flailing middle aged piece of lard making his way around the track.
What was I doing around these beautiful runners who no matter their speed seemed to be imbuing the word grace.
I had put on too much weight. I was sure of it. I could feel it from my cheeks to my stomach which was beginning to have a worrying folded wrinkle across it. Enough, I thought as I began my core workout. What was I thinking, eating, no shovelling, three scoops of ice cream last night. Or was it possibly four?
It was time to train. Or ‘Make a new plan, Stan,’ from the song, 50 ways to Leave Your Lover that my friend Aditi sent me.
This wrinkle must go, I thought, leaving the track, the young boy besides me, who thrashed me in quite a few of the repetitions.
Writing about Running 