Sometimes it is hard to swallow: Life, Work, Triathlon. Many times, we go about our training as if it were ingrained in us at birth.
Man was designed to move, to run, to enjoy his environment. I’m a evolutionist, born and raised - admittedly.
So when I find myself, and others, huddled around glowing boxes like this one (only this one is a glowing lap-box), I realize how far society has drained itself of its capacity, and yet propelled itself towards a seeming infinity.
Virginia Woolf once described the chaos and carnage at the end of the First Great War, as “Progress Through Regression”. This is man epitomized today.
My day was spent in front of one of these creatures of control, dictators of development, and fiendish fortune-tellers.
I finally did get away, only to find myself getting “pulled over”, yelled at, and scowled at by a really brute of a man during my swim workouts. I accidentally rubbed a finger by his leg as we were passing in the same lane. Mind you, I doubt he has ever been in the beginning of a triathlon swim.
Maybe I should just go back to my happy running. Forget about swimming.
Running truly is my faith, my Prozac, or to paraphrase a popular advertisement, “my sandbox”; It makes me cry at times.
I’ve been injured, and wept over my shoes. Not far from where I type this now.
I miss my friends, my running buddies, peer and older and younger. Wherever you are guys, keep your head up, and long may you run.
I wish I could just sit down tonight with them - with my heroes, past and present: Jack Kennedy, George Sheehan, My Grandpa, Paula Radcliffe.
I wonder what they would do.
To be continued…