More more more of the same.
No exciting weather, no drunken hobo to yell encouragement from the bus bench. Only more of the same, but more painful. It hurts a little more every day, it's a little harder to wake up, to get dressed, to get out the door.
Company coming tonight, so this is the last day I'll be running until Monday, and I'm a little nervous about taking time off, even though that was the plan from the start: run most of a week, take three days to recover, and then get in the habit of going every weekday.
I made a difficult goal today--by the time I had walked to it, the rest of the world was already waking up. Traffic roaring by, exhaust fumes filling the air, people leaving their apartments to head out to work.
This is the first day it feels like real distance. Even in a car, getting here from my apartment would take a couple minutes.
I wait for the bus to pass, wait for the diesel to clear out of the air a bit, and then take a deep breath.
It's hard today, I knew it would be the second I woke up, although I was trying to tell myself this wasn't the case. Tried to tell myself that once I got started, I'd get in my groove.
Something pulls in my ankle, not horrible, but enough that I favor it for a couple blocks, hoping it'll work itself out instead of swell up. The pain fades, and I wonder if it'll be waiting for me later in the day.
Almost home, and it feels like I can't do it. So glad that I started writing about this nonsense, even though I know it's repetitious and boring, thank goodness I've been writing about it because I can't stop now.
Take the final corner, my quiet little nook, no more sounds of traffic, no more mowers or refrigerating units or the million other noises of the world waking. Just my breathing and my footsteps, and I know I can make it.