The mantra in his head was not any more complicated than that as he jogged up the rutted path towards the golf course hut. It was fifteen years since he had tried to run all the way over Frostrow Fell and back, but the months of training to get this far told him that he was ready. Everyone wants to believe, later in life, that the effortless fitness they had at school can be recaptured.
He was halfway up the track; already he could see it growing longer and longer with every step. His breathing was already staring to become shallow and desperate, and his legs were starting to burn from the lack of oxygen. Even then he knew that when he reached the hut he would have to turn left and run up to the real summit; no time to recover.
It was all he could do to just repeat his simple mantra over and over, as if anything more complicated would allow an internal discourse, and as soon as he started to reason about his choices, he could weasel out of doing the run.
“Left, right, left, right.”
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