CULT OF JAMES

Same Saturday, four hours later. Back at it. Forty-five minutes, and this time Strava caught a sliver of movement — 0.21 miles. Barely a lap around the block, if that. Two sessions in one day. The afternoon was indoors. The night one had just enough GPS drift or a short walk mixed in to register distance. Either way, RAI wasn’t…

Same Saturday, four hours later. Back at it. Forty-five minutes, and this time Strava caught a sliver of movement — 0.21 miles. Barely a lap around the block, if that. Two sessions in one day. The afternoon was indoors. The night one had just enough GPS drift or a short walk mixed in to register distance. Either way, RAI wasn’t…

Saturday afternoon, forty-four minutes indoors. January in Pensacola — cool enough to want to stay inside, warm enough to feel guilty about it. Duncan Laurence’s “Arcade” was playing. That song hits different during a workout. Loving you is a losing game. Sometimes the soundtrack says what the body won’t. Forty-four minutes, no distance. Just RAI and a song that understood…

Saturday afternoon, forty-four minutes indoors. January in Pensacola — cool enough to want to stay inside, warm enough to feel guilty about it. Duncan Laurence’s “Arcade” was playing. That song hits different during a workout. Loving you is a losing game. Sometimes the soundtrack says what the body won’t. Forty-four minutes, no distance. Just RAI and a song that understood…