Three days a runner, and every step in between is felt. Haven’t run since high school, midway through, and then only really to the heaven-bread bakery a mile from the departure point. The painfully cute purveyor of running shoes was mildly concerned about my “collapsing ankles,” the brutality of such a phrase being overcome only by her general deflation (summer heat seemed to have gotten to her).
But polo is still on, and very well on. Both the steed-wielding rushes of furious whackery and the player-dodging photo sessions.
Something about this just yelled at me. Watch as your eye bounces around. Take a bigger look at it, what it is, and then dive back into the granular detail-seeking pleasures. That’s what happens with me at least.
Anchors and all.