California Burns and PB's
To the Editor,
I write to you today in a state of profound confusion, caught between two fiery revelations that have set my mind ablaze — quite literally in one case, and metaphorically in the other. First, the distressing news of raging wildfires tearing through California, driven by relentless winds that seem determined to fan the flames. And second, the surprising fact that I managed to achieve a personal best while out running this very morning.
Now, I’ll admit, at first glance, these two events may seem entirely unrelated. After all, California is many thousands of miles away, and my running route rarely ventures further than the local park (except for that time I got lost and ended up in the Tesco car park). But as I sprinted along this morning, dodging a particularly aggressive squirrel and what I can only describe as a rogue pram, I couldn’t help but feel the two were somehow connected.
Let us consider the wind. In California, it’s fuelling a dangerous inferno, wreaking havoc across the landscape. Here in Grantham, it was fuelling me — pushing me along with such gusto that I shaved a full 45 seconds off my usual time. Could it be that I unknowingly harnessed the very same gusts that are causing so much devastation overseas? If so, should I be concerned that my PB comes with a side of global guilt?
And what of the fire? While California battles actual flames, I was battling a metaphorical fire in my calves as I powered up that final hill. Could this be a cosmic message, reminding us all that whether it’s wildfires or personal fitness, we’re all just trying to outrun something? (In my case, it was also a slightly judgmental jogger who passed me last week while wearing Crocs.)
Of course, there is also the possibility that I’m overthinking things. Perhaps the wind here in Grantham is simply wind, and my PB is nothing more than the result of cutting down on those pre-run biscuits. But even so, I can’t help but feel a strange kinship with California. After all, whether you’re a blazing forest or a wheezing runner, sometimes life is just about pushing through the burn and hoping for rain — or a water bottle at the very least.
Yours, windblown and mildly sore,
Cedric Fleetfoot
(Local runner, global worrier)