Fake it till you make it


Ha ha. No, (usually) not when I’m walking. But a few kilometers into a run when someone comes gliding past me at an easy canter and I’m wheezing like an asthmatic and perspiring like someone pouring water through a colander, I briefly manage to pull it together. That is until I feel enough distance has materialized between us that I can go back to my steam-engine shunting yard noises and general slouched over leakiness.

For some reason I want the person passing me to imagine that I’m three quarters of the way through a half marathon… and if you consider that… I’m doing pretty well. The fact that I’m almost home after my 5mi tour-de-neighborhood, makes it altogether less impressive.

Also this person has likely heard the panting (that approximates a death rattle… and probably also heard me talking to myself) for at least the last hundred meters… so really this is a pretty dumb charade.

Also I will likely continue to feign running prowess. Because this is how I roll.

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