Had I not been so out of breath, I would have laughed at myself for drawing parallels to the chapter I’d been struggling with in Christopher McDougall’s Born to Run. This may be the chapter that pulls it all together – I can’t be sure. I’ll let you know when I finally am able to conquer it. For now…the run.
Thoughts of animals passing out and subsequently falling victim to their hunters went through my head as I gasped for air on Tuesday’s run. Feeling a connection with these animals, I had to remind myself that I was not being chased. In fact, it was I that was doing the chasing. However equipped we humans are to do this thing called running, that moment was succeeding in convincing me that I was NOT. My ability to sweat, something that is unique to humans, was working overtime. My ability to take multiple breaths per stride was intact as well. It was the ability to endure that seemed threatened. And yet…
I kept my pray (a shirtless male runner who climbed the hill with the ease and grace of a deer) in sight. However futile, I did not give up the hunt. I told myself that it would only be a matter of time until he tired. Then, I would capture him – and possibly take him home for dinner.