I bow (bow wow?) to the wisdom of the WTF dog.
The old ultra saying is that things Never Always Get Worse, and yet here I am. A little slower every day. The basic tenets of training would lead one to believe that I would gradually get faster, or at least, hold steady, and yet here I am.
I go in next week for the Scary Cancer Test, and I increasingly worry that it’s the cause of my woes. Lymphoma in the chest. Can’t breathe. Hmmmm. The other possibility is that my heart is finally done. Just in time for retirement. Oh, well.
This was to have been my glorious third act, the refuge of a running bum. Running all day, pausing only for the occasional Medium Chocolate Frosty and a shake of my fist at the kids on my lawn. But here I am.
What’s the point when there is no longer a point? Maybe the answer still lies ahead. Trust Oblio. I bet Arrow and the WTF dog would have gotten along just fine.
And so I muddle on, trying not to think about it too much, logging the miles as best I can, basking in the sun while I can.
It never always gets worse. It never always gets worse. WTF?