It is doubtful that anybody who has ever seen a track meet might call what I do “running.” Or even “jogging.” Maybe “slogging” would be the word for it.
My guess, just from what little eye contact I can make, is that the people who share the road with me would simply call it a “dadblamed nuisance.”
This particular day I was on Sugarloaf Road in Hendersonville, N.C., a country lane about wide enough for two cars from ditch to ditch, or maybe most of one big pickup truck and a little over half a car…