"Back by Noon, Honey! (Just Kidding)" - The Long Run Time Warp
Sunday morning. The birds are chirping (or maybe they're still asleep, it's early). You're lacing up your shoes, a glint of adventure in your eye. "Back by noon!" you announce to your partner, a statement that hangs in the air with the delicate balance of hope and outright delusion. They nod, a knowing smile playing on their lips. They've heard this before. They *know*.
The problem is, Sunday morning long runs exist in a temporal dimension all their own. Time stretches, bends, and occasionally folds in on itself. What you perceive as a brisk jog can quickly morph into a power hike, a contemplative stroll, or even a brief, unscheduled stop to admire a particularly photogenic tree. The miles have a way of multiplying, mocking your noon deadline with every extra ridge you decide to "just quickly explore."
And then there are the "unforeseen circumstances." The "quick" chat with a fellow runner you bump into, which somehow evolves into a deep philosophical discussion about the merits of trail mix vs. gels. The "short" detour to check out that scenic overlook, which, naturally, involves a rather steep and unexpectedly long climb. The "easy" downhill that leaves your quads screaming for mercy, forcing you to adopt a hobble that resembles neither running nor walking but some strange hybrid of both. Each "unforeseen circumstance" adds minutes, sometimes hours, to your already optimistic estimate.
Back home, your partner is glancing at the clock, a subtle undercurrent of "where are you?" in their otherwise patient demeanor. They might send a text, a gentle reminder that the roast chicken is getting lonely. "Almost back!" you reply, the words echoing with a hint of desperation. You know it's a lie. Or, at least, a highly flexible truth. "Almost back" could mean another hour. It could mean… well, let's just say it's best not to make any firm commitments about meal times.
And so, the long run time warp continues its insidious work, warping the fabric of Sunday morning. The "back by noon" promise fades into a distant memory, a humorous reminder that on the trail, time is a fickle beast, and the return home is always an adventure in itself. But hey, at least you got some fresh air, right?
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