At the Crossroads

I shuffled into the Crossroads aid station after coming around the Three Sister’s loop (bitches all of them), on the last five mile leg of the Bandera 50K. The young woman behind the table welcomed me with a smile (obviously no relation to the sisters) and said something. I pulled off my ear buds. 

“Catching some tunes while you run?” she asked.

“Plato,” I replied.

“Never heard of them.”

“Not a them, a he. I’m listening to Plato’s Republic, Book 7.” 

I get that look, the one I usually get from friends when the find out I’m running a 50K. Yeah, that look. “50K? Why?” they ask.

Of course, the only answer that makes sense to me is, “In order to get ready for a 100K.” That only assures them that their initial assessment was correct. They are talking to an insane man. 

The girl who handed back my water bottle understood why I was running, but not why I was listening to Plato while I ran.

I was ready to ditch Plato for a while. I’d reached the point where my mind was so muddled I couldn’t keep track of the ends and outs of his argument anyway. I hadn’t listened to him for the first ten miles, only inviting him along with me during the middle of the run, that long, section where the excitement of the start is long forgotten and the end isn’t close enough to be real. For that section of a long trail run, Plato is the ideal companion.

Running with Plato may be a little like running with scissors; you think it’s a good idea at the time, but there’s always the possibility that you might cut yourself.  

Then again, running with Plato is like running with someone you like on Facebook because they always post the funniest memes. Not necessarily the most PC, but the funniest. Sure, he can be a real jerk at times; but the butt of his humor is never me. So, I get to laugh along with him.