The view from my run yesterday morning, and a bit of sage advice, in case you are ever seized by the urge to go for a dip in the Hudson River.
Entries in running (2)
I have an on-again off-again love affair with these friends. I go for stretches where my dog Milo starts wagging the minute I yawn, stretch, get out of bed, throw these on and grab the leash. All before sunup. And then there are stretches where Milo mopes and these runners gather dust in the closet.
Last year I was training for a half-marathon, running five or six times a week religiously. My training was going really well. I ran twelve miles one Saturday on a nice rolling trail with great views outside of town. And the next week I couldn't make myself get out of bed. It wasn't a physicial problem at all, but more a mental block. With three weeks until the race I couldn't muster the desire to run even one little bit.
I wrung my hands about what it meant to quit so close to the race I had prepared for, but in the end there was no reason to make myself do it. And with that small defeat I put my shoes in the closet and forgot about them and Milo went back to being a depressive hound dog.
Then, about six weeks ago, the juju came back. It started with some running dreams, where some kinetic urge launches me into space and my lungs don't hurt and my legs don't burn and it's just a joyful motion that feels so good. Obviously my first real run didn't feel that way. A lot of them still don't. But it does feel so good to be back on the wagon.