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Tomorrow Project Anthology, Ch. 3: The Drop

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This morning my metabolic age was 28.

It’s gone five and I’m running along the seafront. To my left the amusement arcades are flickering into life. On my right, the sea, with swirls of pink and grey sky above it. I’m keeping a steady nine minute/mile pace and my GSRcx says I am not emotionally stressed at all, which is a miracle given the fact that earlier today I walked out of my job because of a salad. My heart rate is probably around 70bpm, but I wouldn’t know; I never look at it. My heart rate gives me the heebie-jeebies. What I like knowing is my pace, my stress level, and the distance I’ve covered. I don‘t like looking at the air quality screen. It’s bound to be good by the sea, and with all the improvements to the network, but I wouldn’t want to freak out if it wasn’t. I’m listening to Portishead.

_e English Channel is like a bathtub with water that slops around as if a whole family was constantly taking turns in it. My GSRcx tells me that a 32mph wind is coming from the SSE and I can feel it pushing me along, faster than a nine minute/mile pace now. Cars pass by on the road running along the embankment. All cars are on the network now. People seem to like it. _is means that most of the cars in the town are blue at the moment. _ere is one red car and two grey cars, obviously driving out of town. I wonder where they are going.

Read the full Tomorrow Project Anthology, Ch. 3: The Drop.