Flashes of Panic

Last night I dreamed I had to make hurried preparations to get to Sacramento, because I’d forgotten I was running the 1500m at the Olympic Trials.

Aside from the usual late-and-unprepared component which is, I think, standard for anyone’s dreams, there’s some amusement in there. The 1500m is the event where, I think, American runners are currently least prepared to face the world, Alan Webb excepted; surely that’s why my subconscious picked it as the event where they’d have to go deep enough to call me up. (Never mind that I haven’t run 1500m in years; even when I was running my best at those distances I was forty or fifty seconds off the Trials qualifying marks.) In actual fact, I think Ned was the fastest non-qualifier for the second Trials in a row.

Probably what really sparked it was A.’s preparations last night for departure this morning, and my finding my track spikes while I was looking for something else. They’re still unworn since I picked them up at the local running store’s liquidation sale last fall. Ahh, shoes with teeth. They’re like lacing wings on your feet.

Now playing: Over Rising from Over Rising by The Charlatans