4.8 Miles

Tonight's run was supposed to cover 4 miles. Instead, I pushed it to nearly 5 to prove a point:

While running after dark, I typically follow the loop at Seneca Park. The loop contains a paved recreation track that spans about 12 feet in width and covers 1.2 miles. Without fail, there are always several people engaged in recreation who insist on occupying the side of the track on their left in spite of the fact that everyone learns at an early age that one travels to one's right and passes on one's left. These must be the same people who, as drivers, travel in the left-handed lane bereft of intention to pass. There is no gentle way to state this: these people are either mentally defective, inconsiderate or both.

In any case, tonight, there was a quasi speed walker occupying the wrong side of the track. Unfortunately, she was traveling in the same direction I was, so I would have to stop and turn around in order to inform her that she's an idiot. Although I was disinclined to slow down, I realized that, if I switched directions, I could confront the demon head-on. So, after completing my 3rd circuit, I turned around to run my 4th in the opposite direction.

A satisfying game of chicken was almost certain. My pace quickened, as did my pulse. My rough calculations placed the point of confrontation just after the 2nd turn. As I accelerated through the 2nd turn, I saw a figure in the distance (keep in mind that, while the track is illuminated, the lights are spaced far apart). I trained my eyes on the figure, hugged the inside of the track (my right side) and sprinted towards the figure. As the figure drew closer, I noticed that it was a child. A lone child, jogging madly down the track on his right-hand side. A child no older than 12 or 13, jogging alone at night and observing convention by traveling on his right. I was moved to offer a high-five, but realized that it was dark and he was young (where were his parents?) and, given that he was well-trained enough to run on the proper side of the track, I wasn't prepared to test his preparedness with a can of mace. In any case, the game of chicken never materialized. The offending woman finished her power walk before our showdown. I did manage to shoot a disapproving glance in her direction as she sped off (likely in the wrong lane).

I believe I've mentioned this before, but I will reiterate it again here: while running, nothing motivates me more than a healthy dose of injustice or ignorance of commonly accepted rules and conventions. As much as I dislike the offending woman, I must thank her for inspiring me to finish my run strongly. Still, I do hope she gets her comeuppance, or is at least made to see the error of her wicked ways.