I ran home from work a couple of weeks ago. I surreptitiously closed my office door and changed into my running clothes (am I the only one who uses her office as a changing room?). I put my shoes on. I put my Garmin - wait, where's my Garmin?
Duh. On the kitchen table, where I left it that morning. I had a very, very momentary feeling of "Oh, crap, can I run anyway?" before laughing at myself. I've been running for years sans Garmin, and suddenly I can't run without it? On a course I've run dozens of times?
Being without it was kind of liberating. Even though I wasn't sure of the Garmin at first (in fact, I hated it on my first run with it), and even though I don't use all of the data as effectively as I should, the Garmin is addicting. Somehow it's put itself on the same level as my shoes in terms of equipment I don't go without.
I'm not sure if this addiction is a good thing or a bad thing. For now, it's just a thing. I don't stare at it while I'm running and I don't even use most of the data, but it's nice to know that it's there.
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"