After a really long desolate loop in a tucked away field in Hayarkon Park, I crossed over a bridge and ran the next 5km on my “home turf.”
This part of the Hayarkon Park path is on my main daily jogging route. So, that was a plus; I ran right over to the dirt path on the side of the pavement and settled into a comfy groove.
But the weird part was – except for the odd person who was paying attention enough to see my race number and give me an encouraging cheer, most people had no idea I was about 23 miles into a marathon and running for over four hours by now.
I already mentioned how b/c there were so few total runners in this ‘thon, most of the runners were of the elite type and paced at least an hour ahead of me. So, probably when they ran by, the peeps in this park took notice and cheered ’em on.
But b/c we slow runners were so few and far between, I was like every other casual jogger (and biker and blader and dog walker) in the park at that point.
It wasn’t that it was a lonely feeling. It was just a highly peculiar one. Like being invisible. I didn’t much care for it.
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