Ironically, the mild temperature was a bit of a shock to the system at the start of the run. Cold air's bite had lost some of its bark, or at least said bark was beginning to fall on deaf ears.
Pleasant conditions managed to offset a bit of a twinge in the right achilles, both of which seemed to demand attention, the greater of which receiving the lion's share of an audience.
The achilles can wait.
A few cars scattered about, some lazily puttering down the road, many waiting idly while owners tended to business elsewhere, all of them appearing to be out of place in the world through which we run. The oddity of this sentiment was striking with realization that I, too, would board such an entity within a couple hours.
Soon enough, perhaps too soon, the run had ended, and modern life began again.
Is this what it's like to feel anachronistic?