Socks wrapped around clammy hands, drawing occasional funny glances from high schoolers, are not missed by feet. The water, already pooling and trickling on the track and also raining down, runs with varying volume through spikes made tighter to feet by being wet. Feet, cold and disconnected but still integral to every step would not appreciate a wet sock in the mix.
Preparing for the last bout, a 600, I remove the socks from my hands, along with the rest of my warm up gear. The rain stopped somewhere during the recovery run after my last bout but I am still wet. The weather website read 47 degrees, drizzling and 13mph wind but feels like 41 degrees. I don’t know how they figure that out, maybe some algorithm comparing wind, temperature, and humidity but spot on today. Reminding myself to run strong, but to keep the bout in perspective, I take off.
As I am working along, little adages like stay loose, run the curve and lift with your arms repeat themselves like mantras. And my feet, moving with artistic finesse and laborers determination slap along numb underneath my hot body. Poor feet didn’t have a chance to really get warm today, not properly, during these short bouts and the recovery runs weren’t intense enough to heat them up. Numb but there pushing off strong long legs, are cold feet. This afternoon, my feet were frozen in temperature but not in time, and so too they were numb in feeling but not in doing.
No comments:
Post a Comment