He keeps go. Momentum and motion owning itself, finite direction and dedication. Avoid the groups of people, call out early enough they'll be able to look up, maybe take half a step before realizing he's already darting to one or the other side of them, like he said, and keep going. It's definitely easier to do this run at the very early hours of morning or late hours of evening, when the path is far more clear.
You have to be more clear about watching against the time of day and shadows, but there were Saturday families and weekend work-outs going on in his way. It didn't make it worse. Oddly enough, it just hit in both ways at once. A minute annoyance that at the same time, shifted gears easily, into being a new level so obstacle course to him.
Everything is something you can use to your advantage. Everything a new kind of challenge that can be overcome.
So long as you could reclassify it and find a way around or straight through the problem.
The bridge is closer and closer, and he knows he can't take it at a sprint. Well. That's a lie. If he had to, he'd try. Skipping between two and three boards each time, do anything to match the phantom assailant, caught in the spangle brilliance of wobbly hot air. But this is not life or death. It's Saturday and nothing is there. So he slows. It's still faster than anyone else is going.
But he's paying more attention. Going between boards, skipping one and seeing how well he can keep up half of that momentum.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-01-29 04:10 am (UTC)You have to be more clear about watching against the time of day and shadows, but there were Saturday families and weekend work-outs going on in his way. It didn't make it worse. Oddly enough, it just hit in both ways at once. A minute annoyance that at the same time, shifted gears easily, into being a new level so obstacle course to him.
Everything is something you can use to your advantage. Everything a new kind of challenge that can be overcome.
So long as you could reclassify it and find a way around or straight through the problem.
The bridge is closer and closer, and he knows he can't take it at a sprint. Well. That's a lie. If he had to, he'd try. Skipping between two and three boards each time, do anything to match the phantom assailant, caught in the spangle brilliance of wobbly hot air. But this is not life or death. It's Saturday and nothing is there. So he slows. It's still faster than anyone else is going.
But he's paying more attention. Going between boards, skipping one and seeing how well he can keep up half of that momentum.