The Slug

Today was the first time I had to run by distance instead of time, and it's a darned good thing I was practically at sea level and in cool weather. It got to the point where the gorgeous surroundings weren't going to be enough to get me through it, and my mental game really began to go off the rails--an exciting fantasy of shooting a couple of narco hitmen with my .38 Special kicked in when I was, unfortunately, heading uphill, and I found myself zipping along and spending all my energy on the upgrade instead of cruising easily and zipping dowhill instead. Alarmed at my poor hill-running strategy, I immediately turned to a perusal of favorite recipes, which slowed me down, but reminded me of how horribly hungry I was. Visions of macadamia nut pancakes began to drift through my mind, so as I battled to find some sort of internal pep talk that wouldn't sink me, I noticed this poor slug trying to slime its way across the sidewalk.


"Go for it, oh fellow creature," I thought, "I think we're in the same league."


On my second kilometer lap, I was appalled to notice that the slug, biological differences taken into account, was actually doing better than I was. At that point, though, I was worried about how to talk myself into believing I was two-thirds into my distance goal, which was going to take some creative math, sort of like the creative financial math used by the CFOs of some recently notorious banking institutions.

On the final lap, when my only objective was survival, leavened by a certain sense of smugness as I realized I was really going to be able to do this, I noticed that the blighted slug had completed the equivalent of a slug marathon while I only wanted to reach the parked car that indicated the finish line of my struggles--having done a mere three Ks with a short walk between one K and the next. The whole weight of psychoanalytic theory about the death instinct and Kleinian envy rushed to my mind and created an intellectual excitement. As a result, I didn't step on the damned thing in a spasm of resentment.

My footnote is that I may never walk again; every part of me aches--except, not to put too fine a point on it, my knees--and also, this computer loaned to me by my daughter-in-law does not have the Hal curse!!!