I’m running at the track. It’s an OK day. There’s an ancient shot putter (why would you put shot at 70 years old? um, why would you trot around the track at 61? never mind), the college field goal kicker being filmed by a video crew, a guy running the wrong direction. God, I hate it when people run the wrong direction on the track.
It’s an OK day. 5 miles, 1:17.10 (15:25-132). It’s a bit hotter today and I’m feeling the accumulation of the week, but no big deal. Miles is miles.
I go home, turn on SpongeBob and scroll through the numbers. blah blah blah blah. And then I see it. There’s a hill on the track.
This is weird. I run on a college track. It is flat. Very flat. It is used for track meets and Other Important Events. There’s just no question here. It’s flat. I might have mentioned that already.
Garmin says it’s a little bump, 3 feet tall. It occurs regularly at the same spot. It’s like I’m running over a miniature hill each lap. Except I’m not.
I go back and look at the week. It’s there every day. Same bump, same interval. Very consistent.
What could this be? I am crazed with curiosity. Actually, I am crazed with intertia (it’s just from a distance that I seem morose.) But that’s a different song.
And then it hits me. This counts as hill training! I’m counting miles on the track as hill work from now on.
I suppose there’s a metaphor in the bottom of my bag somewhere, next to the neglected jar of Vaseline and a packet of suspicious looking pills. I’m pursuing a comeback like I’m pursuing uphills. Just a tiny bit at a time. Sure, it’s so small that you can’t even see it, but it’s there. You just have to believe.
Maybe I’ll get a shot put …