On I went, out of the wood, passing the man leading without knowing I was going to do so. Flip-flap, flip-flap, jog-trot, jog-trot, curnchslap-crunchslap, across the middle of a broad field again, rhythmically running in my greyhound effortless fashion, knowing I had won the race though it wasn't half over, won it if I wanted it, could go on for ten or fifteen or twenty miles if I had to and drop dead at the finish of it, which would be the same, in the end, as living an honest life like the governor wanted me to. -Alan Sillitoe, "Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner"

Saturday, April 3, 2010

No race report

Because I'm not running the race.  The Scotland Run is off, as is my planned Sunday treadmill/Mt. Washington test (cranking the incline on the 'mill and seeing how fast and how far I could go).

No, I'm not injured.  I got hit with this absolutely insane deluge of deadlines - like, truly insane, as in I thought it must be an April Fools' Day joke - and I must work almost non-stop until at least Wednesday.  I don't see myself being able to run until then, and I certainly can't race.  (The first deadline must be met tonight before I go to sleep.  I have to edit 135 poorly* written pages, which is why it's 1:30 and I'm still awake and will be for a while.)

*Trust me on this.  I wrote them  myself and they're bad.

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