Eric and I left Ted singing to himself as he hopped and trotted along. The glare off the stones wasblinding and heat kept rising, making it feel as if we were climbing straight into the sun. In a way,we were; after two miles, I checked the altimeter on my watch and saw we鈥檇 climbed over athousand feet. Soon, though, the trail plateaued and softened from stones to footworn dirt. And once more in a barge on the Ganges. The atmosphere seemed faintly iridescent, like mother-of-pearl, the silence serenely lulled by the distant sound of a flute. The palaces and temples, reflected in the still water, looked in the distance like forts crowned with turrets of gold, and their little windows like loopholes. The broad stairs of the quays, where the priests' umbrellas glitter, assumed a spacious, unfamiliar dignity, the red colour shading paler towards the bottom, where it was washed off by the lapping Ganges, looking as though a fairy hanging of gauze were spread under the wavelets in honour of the Apsaras and the divinities of the river. The Kalahari summer cooled into winter, but the hunts continued. The Utah-Harvard docs wouldturn out to be wrong about one part of their Running Man theory: persistence hunting doesn鈥檛depend on killer heat, because the ingenious Bushmen had devised ways to run down game inevery weather. In the rainy season, both the tiny duiker antelope and the giant gemsbok, with itslancelike horns, would overheat because the wet sand splayed their hooves, forcing their legs tochurn harder. The four-hundred-pound red hartebeest is comfortable in waist-high grasslands, butexposed and vulnerable when the ground parches during dry winters. Come the full moon,antelopes are active all night and tired by daybreak; come spring, they鈥檙e weakened by diarrheafrom feasting on green leaves. 日本一本道码高清区_一本道高清到手机在线_东京热一本道色综合网 Then, under a portico in front of us, a man began to undress. He threw off his dhoti and his sarong, keeping on his loin-cloth only. With outstretched arms he placed a heavy copper pot full of water on the ground, took it up between[Pg 171] his teeth, and without using his hands tilted his head back till the water poured all over him in a shower, which splashed up from the pavement, sprinkling the spectators in the front row. Next he tied his dhoti round the jar, which he refilled, and fastened the end to his long hair. Then, simply by turning his head, he spun the heavy pot round him. It looked as if it must pull his head off, but he flung it faster and faster till he presently stopped. Just seeing 鈥淐aballo Blanco鈥?pop up in my in-box was always a huge relief. As nonchalant as heacted about the risks, Caballo was leading an extremely dangerous life. Every time he set out for arun, it could be his last; he liked to believe the drug assassins wrote him off as a harmless 鈥済ringoIndio,鈥?but who knew how the drug assassins felt? Plus, there were his strange fainting spells: [Pg 224] All righty. I flipped my notebook to a blank page and started jotting numbers. It takes eight yearsuntil you run your best time at age twenty-seven. If you get slower at the same rate you got faster,then you鈥檇 be back at your nineteen-year-old time by age thirty-six: eight years up, eight yearsdown. But I knew there was a twist involved, and I was pretty sure it had to be whether we fadeaway as quickly as we improve. 鈥淲e probably hang on to our speed a little longer once we get it,鈥? Eric had recommended I begin my tribal makeover by heading down to Virginia to apprenticemyself to Ken Mierke, an exercise physiologist and world champion triathlete whose musculardystrophy forced him to squeeze every possible bit of economy out of his running style. 鈥淚鈥檓living proof of God鈥檚 sense of humor,鈥?Ken likes to say. 鈥淚 was an obese kid with a drop footwhose dad lived for sports. So as an overweight Jerry鈥檚 Kid, I was way slower than everyone Iever played against. I learned to examine everything and find a better way.鈥?