Ian's Innards: Deceived

I’m gnawing on the knowledge that I have been burnt, and I’m learning things that I should’ve already learnt. -Gordon Gano-Violent Femmes - The absurdity of the moment was set aglow as he turned in irritation, acutely aware of my impending approach. “The outside lane is for walkers” was simply stated, but his bitter distaste for my disturbing disregard of the indoor track hierarchy was easily palatable. I muttered surely unaccepted apology as I sailed off the outside of the furthest semblance of guiding white, ensuring maximum space in overtaking without bloodying the on looking bleachers.

Here I was, actually paying money to work out where I used to suffer free of charge in college and being summarily shooed from the choice lane, which only accentuated my disappointed awareness that it simply wasn’t going well. After sincerely worrying that the work set for this initial indoor venture would prove too easy to promote a worthwhile effort, I was struggling. The betrayal of my normally trusty watch announcing times consistently slower than anticipated was depressingly exceeded only by the ridiculous effort required to attain them.

Mid spin down this darkening hole found myself sputtering through a massively over torqued left calf, commiserating in misery with its partnered foot, steadily frictioning away to blistered rawness. How could I have deceived myself so? After retreating indoors to spike up more winters than I can recall, how could I have forgotten all it entailed? This awkward, uncomfortable, opening foray to the shrunken oval was no anomaly; it always takes a few trips to liquefy in tandem with the bends underfoot.

My memory of zipping around, clicking clockwork splits, had buried any recollection of this shameful display; and rightly so, why would I return year after year if it hadn’t? I think I’ll bring a shovel next week and throw some dirt toward this necessary amnesia.
-- Ian Forsyth