First Sign of Madness

What a beautiful day.

I went to a concert last night so I got to bed late and was unprepared for my 6am alarm call, but even so it was a joy to encircle Crouch End with my weary gait this morning. It gets light so early at this time of year that the sun is already fairly high in the sky, even at 6.30. The day feels like it has been up for hours and is just waiting for people to notice.

There were a few other runners on the street, including Mr N, whom I did spot this time when we passed each other, though I pretended I hadn’t until the very last minute, because I am hilarious. He did not laugh.

I wasn’t paying much attention to the other runners. When I was thinking about what to write today I thought, ‘I’ll write about how weird it was that it felt like 10am but there were no people about’, then I remembered that actually there had been quite a few people, I had just erased them from my memory. Now I think back, I passed about six runners, all running towards me and all locked in their own thoughts. None of them acknowledged me, and I didn’t acknowledge them directly, though I did do a sort of half-head-nod of recognition, which is my London way of not being rude whilst simultaneously not wanting to intrude on people’s personal space.

I wonder if any of them noticed me? When I run, I sometimes feel like I am carrying my thoughts with me like a cloud of balloons above my head, jostling in the breeze, for everyone to see. I have caught myself singing or laughing out loud to my i-pod many times, and I worry that the same thing might be happening with my thoughts when I run. Can I be sure that I am only thinking them or might I actually be voicing them? It’s not unknown for me to talk to myself. I hope I am not getting a reputation as the Crazy Running Lady of Crouch End.

It’s probably too late for that.