The desire in me to be alone hasn’t changed. Which is why the hour or so I spend running, maintaining my own silent, private time, is important to help me keep my mental well-being. When I’m running I don’t have to talk to anybody and don’t have to listen to anybody. All I need to do is gaze at the scenery passing by. This is part of my day I can’t do without. (p. 14)
What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, Haruki Murakami (2008)
Six miles this afternoon. A sweat bath. Slow. There is a phase shift from that moment when the black flies hover and linger to when they dive bomb, touch skin for a taste of salt or land for a chance for more. Do you know if this phase shift is in a summer (e.g., June 15) or a day (e.g., precisely at 3:15 p.m. EDT)? I don’t. Or maybe it hinges on a body’s heat or slowness or sweatiness or fatigue. They can smell fatigue. That must be it. Whatever, it happened midway along this runroute, from no-touch flies to divebombs and landings. During mile five.