After five months of not running, I trudged out in the snow and ran four miles. Okay, that's a lie. I ran most of four miles, but I also pussied out and walked three or four times. Not for great distances, but long enough for my flab to stop jiggling, then I'd start running again.
And not to toot my own horn, y'all, but I knocked out 11-minute miles. That's right. I'm that fucking fast.
Still, as dispiriting as it is to get lapped by an eighty-year-old dude who's running with his colostomy bag, I felt good when I was done. At least, after I'd wiped the vomit off of my shoes.
People, a four-mile run was nothing to seven months ago. Nothing! And today, I practically crawled it! *sigh* I've got a long, painful slog back uphill to semi-fitness.
