I came up with some vague idea of a goal I'd like to attain in running, now that gnomish geezer decrepitude has set in and then I started doing what I enjoy: obsessing over details of how to get there. I found myself saying I had to do this and I had to do that and I really needed to work on these things... when common sense struck.
What I needed to do is stop thinking about it and actually go out and run.
I can't go far without pain, I can't go fast without pain, but I can do more than sit and complain about it. The plan is to do what I hate - run twice a day - because I can do it. Fifty minutes, twice a day, and I'd be doing more than 70 miles per week (and doing a lot of laundry, as well).
I went out and ran 6 miles in 51 minutes last night. I got pelted with nickel-sized hail in the last mile, which just goes to prove that NOTHING - EVER - is going to be easy.
This morning, I woke up sneezing, with a runny nose, so I took an antihistamine and dragged my poor drugged-into-somnambulation body out the door and did 5 miles in 50 minutes, shuffling on tiptoe the first mile as the stiffness in my achilles tendons slowly lifted.
Day one is in the books.
Fisher's Big Wheel
1 week ago