He came up on my left from behind, ran just a little ahead of me--and stayed there, a guy about my side and some years younger judging by the quantity and color of hair.
There are lots of runners who pass me as if I'm just walkering, lean, loose, long striders who antelope by. They whoosh up and by, creating a distance between us that gets undeniably larger moment by moment. I have to admire these; how can I not?
Run beside me if you'd like; I appreciate a good pace-setter, but don't run just ahead of me and don't, don't pull into my lane just a stride or two in front of my face. It's impolite and it makes me mad.
So I turned on my burners--lifted my legs, extended my stride, balanced on the balls of my feet--and overtook him. I ran with an unobstructed view ahead for a quarter mile or so when I began to hear the thumping of his shoes over my left shoulder and he appeared in my peripheral vision, then my foveal. He went past me, then moved into my lane. No!
I swerved to the left and really put my wheels in gear, drawing even, pulling ahead, I left him behind, and kept the pace as I turned onto the Mass Ave bridge and kept it up all the way across. By the time I was on the down-ramp to the Esplanade, and could look back, he was gone.
A good run, and I thank you for it, but my right leg started cramping a bit with the extra exertion. If that's the price of having my own view forward, so be it.
There are lots of runners who pass me as if I'm just walkering, lean, loose, long striders who antelope by. They whoosh up and by, creating a distance between us that gets undeniably larger moment by moment. I have to admire these; how can I not?
Run beside me if you'd like; I appreciate a good pace-setter, but don't run just ahead of me and don't, don't pull into my lane just a stride or two in front of my face. It's impolite and it makes me mad.
So I turned on my burners--lifted my legs, extended my stride, balanced on the balls of my feet--and overtook him. I ran with an unobstructed view ahead for a quarter mile or so when I began to hear the thumping of his shoes over my left shoulder and he appeared in my peripheral vision, then my foveal. He went past me, then moved into my lane. No!
I swerved to the left and really put my wheels in gear, drawing even, pulling ahead, I left him behind, and kept the pace as I turned onto the Mass Ave bridge and kept it up all the way across. By the time I was on the down-ramp to the Esplanade, and could look back, he was gone.
A good run, and I thank you for it, but my right leg started cramping a bit with the extra exertion. If that's the price of having my own view forward, so be it.
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