Yet here I sit, watchless. Have been for weeks. Maybe months.
I used to be a watch hound. Loved watches. Loved buying watches. Not the expensive designer watches, or the elegant/artistic real movement watches with actual gears inside. These were running watches. Black. Digital. Plastic. Functional gadgets, not stylish jewelry.
I had alarms set, and timers running. And I always knew the date. And time.
Now, not so much.
As I sit here and try to understand why, I know that I have my phone on me to fill some of the void. But it's not the same.
I guess I just don't really care what time it is anymore. Not enough to have it at the ready, a wrist-turn away.
That feels like a good thing.
Good running,
Doug
Numbers: 4.4 miles on roads
