It is all habit.
Witness, both of you, the precipitous drop in the number of posts here, from daily to now and then sporadic, as my time and my energy and my random thoughts have been redirected elsewhere. To slip out of the rhythm was hardly my intention-- the neglect here nags-- but it happened, not unlike (or totally different) from my verge-of-flagging running routine.
After the marathon-- have I mentioned I ran one?-- I had a near week of officially sanctioned not to mention physically mandated rest. I walked, first stiff then sore, maybe twice in seven days before I ever tried to run. But eventually I got in what felt like mile 27 and then one or two more and then I was busy, I was tired, I was lazy. It rained. This was not a long stretch-- I'm only 16 days removed--but after 30 mile weeks it felt like ditching, or at least strolling the edge. Life just might have gone on. The Y track is too small, my calves are too sore, the December race is a mere 5K-- how could it matter? A forty-five minute drive home from work is more than enough time to devolve from "let's go" to "let's not"; a stretch on the couch is easy to justify.
But today I did not sit down despite just beyond brisk weather; I shushed my internal monologue and went. I just did it, as they say. Once out and back in, slow, but somehow stronger, it felt that the switch had been flipped. It feels better to have gone than to have not; it feels good to be breathless and sweaty. This time, I think I'll remember that. And if I don't, maybe I'll come here and read it.
