When the young boy and I were driving back, we spoke about the art of good conversation.
Hearing my own words, developing my own thoughts as I imparted advice was interesting enough in that I would do well to practise more.
But meanwhile, I had bombed my long tempo run today which secretly I had been harbouring as a time trial goal. Crashed it by more than a minute at the least.
Slightly smarting from not reaching the requisite milestone, I could point to a bevy of weather factors – heat, wind – but really it came down to me.
After all, Jeet lapped me, didn’t he. But Ashwini dropped off, he did. Feeling like I was carrying bricks, I traipsed along the white lines of the track, knowing this would have to wait for another day.
Made for good training and a slap on the wrist though. It’s needed.
Writing about Running 