I can tell you that a country block is 8.45km.
The stones crush together under my pounding feet heading out to the road. A few of the beers from the night before are quietly asking if this is a good idea. I ignore them as I am determined to do the “block”. As I turn left towards the lengthening hill I can hear them again.
I make my way up the hill knowing that what goes up gets to come down. I make my way across Cambray Rd towards the half way point. It is quiet, peaceful, and pretty as a fall day can get. I start my way down Elm Tree when the nay saying horses all start to question why I am on the road.
Elm Tree is a long, straight road overlooking itself while going down. As I make my way past 5km my lungs and legs are starting to back the beers. The body is thinking about a coup d’etat over this running stuff.
As I run I often have time to think. Clearly. As I venture down this busy country road I cannot help but think of inspiration. How must it have felt to run the unknown roads? 42km every day most of the time with little or no support other than your best friends, a donated van, and a mechanical leg. 42km every day. Through the pain. Through the heat. Nothing but your determination to carry you on.
I came damn close to stopping as I rounded the corner with less than 2km to go. My thoughts drift back to Terry hopping through the countryside. 42km every day, 1 step, 1 hop at a time. Why can’t I make it around the block? As I push on, the beers are silenced with the sound of my heart pounding, the coup d’etat is drowned by sweat. The final 500m is pushed to the limit. The block is finished.
I do not have an answer on how long a country mile is. I can tell you that mine was not run alone, I had Terry with me every step of the way.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
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