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"

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

I hate myself

Last night, I sent my last text message from bed at 3:58am.

This morning, my alarm went off at 5:38 per usual.

About 5:55, I emailed my running partner to ask her if I could cancel. When she didn't answer, I dragged my tired self out of bed, threw on my running clothes, and ran to the subway.

She wasn't there.

I waited, exhausted.

About 6:30, I suddenly realized: she had told me earlier this week that she was running after work on Wednesday. Today was Wednesday.

Replace "Yvette" with myself and pretend that I'm Mrs. White, talking about myself here:

Flames. From the side of my face. Today is not off to a good start. (And no, I didn't just run on my own. 1.75 hours of sleep? I'm writing this from bed. Catch you in another couple of hours.)


  1. You poor thing. I hope you got some sleep after all that. What a nightmare.

  2. whew, that exhausts me just reading about it. Hope that whatever's keeping you awake that late will subside, or we'll start seeing EXTREME EXTREME FATIGUE posts.