I clamped off the thought like a spurting artery and rushed over to consult my ex-running partner, Dane Hart. Surely he would talk me out of this madness. He would lead me back to the green pastures of sanity. If he could remember my name. Nothing against Dane, but the degenerated lifestyle of obsessive- compulsive runners is well documented.
Brain cells are the first casualties of the loathsome excesses.
Put an addicted runner like Hart in a pair of Nikes and his passion for a respectable, productive life quickly dissolves. But he did ask if he could come along. Think of it as a test of your abilities, a chance to show that you've still got what it takes. Come on, it'll be a snap. My mind will snap.