Friday, March 14


I started off my run lazily, dreading the run, anticipating pain. How many days had it been since I'd last hit the pavement? Too many. Clearing the dust from my sneakers had nearly sent me into an asthmatic attack.  But here I was, willing to inflict this form of self-torture commonly referred to as "exercise" by my slimmer counterparts, women with thigh gaps and jutting collar bones.

Should I run my usual one mile or literally go the extra? With no hope of actually completing two miles running, I figured I'd at least try. If I gave out after my first mile, I'd still have to walk the the other one home, thus achieving two miles of physical activity. Breathe in, breathe out. In through the nose, out through the mouth, one step at a time. Try to forget that sneaking ache threatening to seize your whole left side.

I made it to the the one mile marker. I could still breathe and nothing hurt yet. I'll just run around this corner to Blaine Street and then...

"One mile? No sweat! Two miles? Better yet!" a man walking his dogs yelled at me.

Hmmm. I like that. One mile? No sweat! Two miles? Better yet! And step by step, those words became my mantra. I made it to the end of Blaine Street, went around the cul-de-sac and still my feet kept moving.

On the way home I saw the man with the mutts again, but this time it was I who yelled, "One mile? No sweat! Two miles? Better yet!"

He smiled approvingly, nodding his head, encouraging me. "That's right!"

And that is how I ran two miles tonight.

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