The long run is an exercise in endurance, the goal not being quickness but steadiness. It teaches patience and conservation, with the goal of maintaining energy reserves for the the end of the road. Still, weariness sets in and the last mile or two is run with the mind overriding the body.

Fourteen and three-quarter miles into my fifteen mile run I faced the crossing of Massachusetts Avenue. On a Saturday morning the road is not all that busy, but as it is good practice I slowed to look both ways before crossing the street.

As I turned my head to the right I tripped, perhaps due to uneven sidewalk, perhaps a misstep. Regardless, I quickly found myself sprawled on the ground, dazed. I picked myself off the sidewalk, checked for damage, and finding myself in relatively good shape, completed the last few minutes of my expedition.

It could have been much worse. I scraped up the palm of my left hand as well as my right elbow and shoulder. The last is a bit stiff, but I have every hope that it will be ship-shape in a day or two. The lesson seems to be that as the run progresses even the simplest of actions requires ferocious concentration.