Flashes of Panic

It was lousy running on the roads of Amherst on Friday afternoon. In the two days since the storm, some of the sidewalks were cleared, but others weren’t, and there were still those little patches of loose snow that make you chop your stride and tiptoe through. Not exactly conducive to getting into a groove and feeling the flow of the run, though at least they didn’t have the ice that (still) coats most of Medford’s sidewalks.

And yet for some reason the last two miles or so were some of those miles which, if you could’ve inhabited my skull for that time, would explain perfectly why I’m still dragging my tired old carcass out the door. I wish I had races that felt that way. I felt like I could ask my legs for anything—more speed, more speed, no problem. I was almost afraid to ask for fear I’d find the point where it stopped.

I can’t say I feel quite that good today, but it’s nice to remember.

Now Playing: Cantilever from Forget Yourself by The Church

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