Run, Fat Boy, Run

If I had been born several thousand years ago, I would have been eaten by something quicker than me. Even if I didn’t have the trappings of modern life, I’d still be cheetah bait. Predators, with their menacing stereoscopic vision, would surround me like some sort of dumb gazelle. Instead of whimsically prancing away, though, I’d take about two steps before I was torn asunder. Not since Han ripped open that tauntaun would guts be spilled so quickly.

In an attempt to increase my chances of post-apocalyptic survival (and overall health, to make sure I make it that far), I’m running. Let’s change that – I’m walking rather quickly, alternating with walking somewhat slower. Calling it running is an insult to runners, and come to think of it, even calling it walking is an insult to the intrepid sport of “race walking.” It’s timed ambling.

Time ambling is not something I’m doing particularly well – although I’m not sure by what metric one judges these things. At the Olympics, it’s about speed. I can do the 392m run in 32.13:04. Or something like that. I’m a musician, I don’t do numbers.

I know that this morning, according to Runkeeper, I traveled 3.88 miles in just over an hour. Not a blistering pace, but for someone who considers walking from the general parking lot to the College of Music a trek, not bad. By a distance metric, I succeeded against whatever arbitrary value I put forth. I wanted to complete the circuit, and I did. Now, here’s a more telling graphic.

I was running for 1 minute, then walking for 4. You’d expect to see a little bump every 5 minutes or so, right? And if you squint hard, you almost see it towards the end. But at the beginning.

Flat. Flat as the world before we decided it wasn’t.

Arthur C. Clarke said, “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” Apparently, my walking and running and indistinguishable as well.

But I did something, and I have to at least give myself a little credit. If I don’t, then I won’t go again. RunKeeper sent me a little message right after I completed, saying “Congrats! You ran the furthest you’ve ever ran!”

It’s the little things that keep me going, and get me a few more steps ahead of the lions or whatever.

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One Response to Run, Fat Boy, Run

  1. Pingback: A Pretty Pattern | Quarter Life Freak Out

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