Lost in Translation

Perhaps it wasn’t the translation tonight, but amidst the showers and wind shear that had been wreaking havoc on the city he was, lost, in Oak Bay.

He goes by the name of Papa, Jim, Seamus and the Flying Finn, to name a few. He’s a male, Caucasian, Leo and rumor has it he like the movie… Hero. He was last seen tearing it up around Windsor Park wearing battleship grey and orange Adidas tights and a long-sleeved green shirt. If you’ve seen him please call 555-4648 (operators are standing by).

Shortly after 4:30 p.m. we met outside his house, his curiosity had been piqued and I was along for the ride. After the tempo session had finished, during which I was reminded of the JF05 Model, something I hadn’t seen for a long time (relaxed shoulders, a quick untroubled gait… this bodes well for JFo7, “The Terminator”), the plan, as best I remember, was to meet after 20’ of intervals. Neither of us contemplated a problem; we’d seen each other at least ten times throughout the tempo session.

Unfortunately when the large drops started, you know the ones, the drops that hit your clothing with uncharacteristic torrential weight drenching a disproportionate amount of your clothes. When they started, I knew we were in for difficulty. The light sprinkle hand turned to showers, the showers to rain and then, then, they happened. Somewhere amidst the blur of Christmas lights, puddles and eerie blackness we lost contact. I could’ve promised he said 20’; I slowly jogged from one corner to the next, changed direction. He couldn’t be lost? I do vaguely remember a stifled shout ten minutes in, I hesitantly yelled back but only managed to frighten a man dashing from his car to a nearby restaurant. After a cold eight minutes I pulled away knowing that we’d missed each other.

The run home wasn’t nearly as enjoyable; the feet seemed that much heavier, what felt like an old pair of sodden, mud caked Nike Air Structure 2s had been mysteriously attached to my feet. My calves hurt. I took “off” my gloves because the dampness made me feel colder?

I hope he made it home…

Training: 1:23:39, AHR 130, MAX 163, 5x 1’on, 1’ off. I wish I could tell you far I’d gone but, well, I can’t.