Super Steve and I got an early start this morning, sneaking in a hour of stealth run before joining the main group. Since we were all warmed up, we quickly assumed cruising speed, and started chatting with a few friends.
Normally, we place ourselves well behind the ‘A’ group of studs, who run a good minute-per-mile faster than us. On rare occasions, they will lag behind as they warm up, letting us have our moment in the sun as we lead the whole group down the path. After a mile or so, they will blow by us in a kind of friendly, wordless chastisement. It is all in good fun: they get the chance to demonstrate their effortless speed while beneficently granting us a little glory.
Today, we started hearing footsteps behind us at about a mile, and then even more footsteps after that. We nervously glanced at each other, waiting for the inevitable. But after two miles, and then three, we were ratcheting up the speed, trying to impress our heroes (or at least make a good showing) before we got passed and fell into our normal pace. Not wanting to commit the great faux pas of looking back, we just gave each other the high eyebrows and kept on trucking.
I was cutting the run short, and so I stopped after about half an hour to turn around. Pulling off into the grass by the side of the path, I looked behind us and saw a bunch of unfamiliar faces cruising by. These were not the fleet feets; they were irregular ‘B’ teamers who were just looking for a proper pace. Apparently, the ‘A’ team had picked an entirely different route for the day.
On my way back, I was thinking about all of the worries which I currently have. I thought about my Dad, who still reminds me that “most of what we worry about never comes to pass.” And I thought about my Teacher, who tells me “don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow has enough trouble of its own.”