Work as if you live in the early days of a better nation
Even though I’m not being chased by literal hounds, I am running south as hard as I can. My legs burn, but I keep moving. To my left is the grey-green sea, hardly moving beyond the motion of the gently encroaching tide. On my right, the narrow golf links, covered in patches of melting snow. The road ahead of me runs for another 4km before it runs through Footdee and stops at the mouth of the Dee. I will not make it that far in the time I have left. My watch shows my heart rate, which is very high, and the time remaining for this effort, which is too much. Another runner going north on the Esplanade crosses my path. We barely acknowledge each other. I want to give up. I feel sick. All I’ve eaten today is a couple of slices of toast and a soft banana. I glance at my watch and dry heave. Keep going, I think. There are only three minutes left. Keep up the pace. I pass the pizza cart and the bright red Fit Fine fish and chip shack. When did I last run hard for this long? September, I think. The hounds are catching up with me. Their jaws are biting at my calves. Two minutes left and I’m almost above the tunnel back inland. It’s the way home, and the dogs caught me with a minute left.
From an everyday journal entry dated December 4th 2021.
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