Hot hand streak days of optimism fuelled by endless good fortune. No limitations to how early the body wakes up, how many volumes the mind consumes, how much energy the unit of human being outputs. Is performance an illusion or bodily immune response to the environment? Who truly has control over smooth sailings over a calm ocean under the full moon?
And then there are times when steps lose rhythm, when one ailment worsens another, when days are cold, nights are dark, hormones high and feelings lugubrious. The body is but a vehicle for bacteria not our own, a playground where infinitesimal shifts effect that we are never the same from one moment to the next. Are successes statistical flukes?