SpeedometerMan

Some people just know shit.  Like I knew when our neighbor huffily moved out from the apartment she shared with the co-subject of her self-published erotica memoir, something told me that that wasn’t the end of this tempestuous twosome.

A has an amazing ability to inherently know what pace we are running at any given moment.  He is somehow hardwired to be able to correctly gauge our speed.  Often I’ll ask him how fast he thinks we are going, and he’s inevitably within a five second margin of the pace calculated by our running watch.  It’s incredible, especially since I usually have no idea whatsoever.  There are runs where I feel like we are flying, and they’ll clock in at ten seconds slower than average.  Then there are runs where I’m struggling the whole way, and those are typically our fastest to date.

I can’t even tell how fast other runners are going.  There are people who look like they are running at a fast clip, and we’ll easily blow by them.  Conversely there’s the sap plodding along who we can seemingly never catch up to, which is beyond irritating.

Being able to intuit one’s own speed really won’t make you a better runner in this day and age of fancy tech watches and pace-monitoring smart phone apps, but I still think it’s a pretty cool superpower to have.  It’s certainly more useful than being able to correctly predict the outcome of one’s neighbors’ romantic entanglements.  (And yes, lo and behold, not but one month later did he join her in her new apartment.  Last I heard they have resumed their implausible dom/dom romance and I’m sure a follow-up memoir is in the offing.)