“Hell is the rhythm of others” – Paul Fournel
So you escape.
The real race has started now as the fires in your lungs have quieted with the pace. The group breathes collectively for the first time. Thirty minutes in and the first selection has been made – you’re in it.
Looking around you’re seeing those who look strong: their form solid, their mouths closed and eyes focused. Those who are not are beginning to show their signs of weakness, but they’re of no concern. They’ll find their own satisfaction from the coming miles. Your own is not so far away. One last consultation with the legs and you can tell it’s time. Tired of the pace set by the group, you take position and prepare for your escape.
Your legs respond and show their anticipation. “Finally.” they agree. A few strokes and you’re out, the wind in your face tells you to start the count. 10….9….8….
“Then settle into your pace. If you’re not away in those first ten, let them catch you and try again.”
Turning around you see they’ve let you go. Futility isn’t the main occupation of your thoughts, only how quiet it’s seemed to have become. The sound of your tempo welcomes you and gives you a pat on the back. “Good show, son.”
You press on.