Pete seemed a bit agitated, looking at his watch, stabbing at buttons, doing something with his phone. "How much longer?" It was simply Thursday runclub, but Matt had requested I wait for him...there's a pattern here! I picked Pete up, arrived, the others set off...and we waited...and waited. More agitating, more harrumphing...then Matt arrived, he went to get changed...and we waited...and waited. Then this almighty noise erupts from somewhere on Petes chest, sounding like a kind of personal intruder alarm.
More harrumphing, rummaging, pressing buttons and then the extraction of his phone, hidden deep under many layers of warm clothes to combat the cold evening. It seems he's wearing a husband tracker, or something. It's an issue, certainly after the death of the two girls from Aldershot this week while out on a club run. Once activated, if he doesn't move for 10 minutes it sets an alarm off, and unless he cancels it, an alert is sent to the current Mrs Stock of his whereabouts. What happens after that was the subject of further discussion...and much ridicule.
The immediate issue was that our whereabouts was still outside the rugby club, awaiting the Good Dr. Eventually, Matt was ready, we ran...there were no more alarms. You can understand the notion of safety, accountability and so on. Some of the places we get to are remote, hostile. Having someone who cares that you can inform of your whereabouts would be great, but then the joy in the type of running some of us do is being isolated, alone, independent. There is a balance somewhere, and Pete is searching for it. Stockport almost looking attractive this morning.
