A runners shame

I’m ashamed, my eyes flick from side to side and down to the floor – anything to avert your insightful glare. You just don’t understand – I really tried, right to the last minute I really really tried – hoping, praying that the shame would shake my sorry ass. My last hope of escape into the redemption parlour rather than the shirker cellar of shame rested in the bagful of kit on my shoulder. I glanced once at the running crazies in the Changi airport gym (yep they have two – one each in T2 and T3) and strode dejectedly past for the comforts of the Asian buffet and another glass of Bordeaux in the business lounge. A former world I had become scarily reacquainted with in the space of only a few days had won – I am indeed ashamed.