I had some harmless fun and games today while visiting an Arena of Past Sorrows.
The old school running track, to be exact. The reluctant co-player was an unsuspecting high-school PE teacher herding the Lads in a morning workout.
Meanwhile, this Old Duffer had arrived a few minutes earlier, and was busy chugging around the track doing some interval training. That’s short bursts of faster-paced running, followed by slower recovery, or in my case, gasping for breath.
The aim of which is to … run faster. Smoothly. On a marked track with exact distances.
I’m busy flailing down the home strait, and I hear “hey … hey” from the teacher. I pretend to be deaf.
Next lap I’m recovering. “Hey … hey ” again from the portly pedagogue.
“Run with me,” I shout, at a mild jog. That works.
“Garble splutter … private property … jabber splurtle … police!” he shouts.
I continue jogging away, almost facing backwards now. “I’ll stay out of yer way … run around you,” I shout. No response.
Three or four more laps, and the frisbee which is acting as the ball in a game of ‘touch’ comes my way. “Watch out for the runner,” shouts someone. Ahh, I have the crowd on my side.
As I finish the workout, without further finagling, I wave amiably back at the teacher, from a safe distance “thanks”.