Flashes of Panic

Towards the end of this morning’s run, I dropped by the University track, where they’re having (yet another) meet today. I bumped in to the coach from the College. “Leaving, or coming back?” he asked. “There’s no mud on you.”

I observed that, until my runs are long enough to reach the Fells, the only way to get muddy on a run around here is to cross the Mystic at low tide.

Now Playing: Get On With It from Aurora Gory Alice by Letters To Cleo