I live in a particularly kindly part of middle earth. It never really dropping much below 10 degrees c in the day or heading to over 24 in the afternoon. It is pretty clear I will no get hypothermia or frostbite on a run, and although the humidity is often in the 90's; overall it is ridiculously temperate.
So it can't be fear for my life that keeps me slightly freaked out before my long runs. Neither is it stranger danger. I have the good fortune to have regularly spaced, kindly rural neighbours lining the course of my favourite runs. Strangers do drive by, but they are often in jolly holiday vans and pull over to get my advice about finding the nearest petrol station, they do not strike me as axe murderers.
Sometimes the thought flickers through my head that I will become an ironic by-line in the Sunday paper – 'runner has heart attack and/or fatal asthma attack on idyllic country road.' Imagine the chuckles! But no, my heart holds firm and I am never more than half an hour from the nearest inhaler.
So what is the fear? I would love to think it is of my own awesomeness, but probably not. I think it is more akin to a panic attack type feelings, and like all panic attacks, the only way out is to run on through chanting allow, allow, allow...
No comments:
Post a Comment