The faded blue track has lost its cushion after years of wear and apparent little maintenance. With every slow footfall the white track markers came and went as the straights curved and straightened again. The cold strained the lungs as the muscle fibers lengthen and fell into a rhythm. The faded orange hat that has accompanied me over mountains and through city streets collected the sweat forming underneath it as we circumnavigated the turf.
Today's run was a relatively short one. 5x800 with a one mile warm up, roughly 4.5 miles total with the cool down. It was the first I had visited this particular oval and the first I'd set foot on one in months. I was alone in the cold but my mind and body were nervous. The line came closer, my leg muscles twitched, tightened and drove my foot into the ground. The steady white plumes of carbon dioxide and condensation became shorter and increased with the footfalls. Months of LSD (long, slow distance) abuse left me slower than I'd like, but I felt exhilarated. I moved around the track, my lungs burning, my feet making momentary contact with the track as my legs propelled me through the headwind on the back side of the home stretch. I crossed the line, marked the lap and slowed for recovery. I felt the best I had in a long time. I felt fast, I felt free and I felt like the upcoming 50 miler would be a tangible goal.
To the kids inside the classrooms, though, I looked like a idiot.
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