Slowly I turn . . .

The dread mill is all inversion for me, some wheel turning out in the wilderness to power this wheel turning under me, here in a small mirrored gym, sports heads talking about bowl games.  Road running is imposing your discipline on the road, and here the black ribbon turned for me, and me for it.  During the first mile I hated it and wished for the road but over the next three I began to develop a grudging appreciation for the relentlessness of it.  There was something useful there, even if I had not quite grasped it completely, would not embrace it fully, not yet, perhaps never.

 

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