I don't love running any less now that I did a few years ago when I was faster. But my love for running has been more theoretical than literal for so long that I often forget what it was like to love running up close.
So my first run after my week off was spectacular--maybe I was still in race mode, maybe it was the week of rest, maybe it was the brilliantly good weather--whatever the cause, I was cruising along, feeling great, and remembering why I started this thing in the first place.
|These shoes. Preferably after that cup of tea.|
(Unrelated: Cincinnati is growing on me fast, but seeing
a pic I took in my house in Austin bums me out.
I miss it.)
I still haven't gotten the hang of Cincinnati running. There's a local running club that I've thought about joining but haven't yet. I don't really know whether I'm running in areas that are safe or if I'm taking my life into my own hands every time I go out the door. (Nobody tell my grandmother.) There's a right way to run up hills that I haven't learned how to do. As with every other area of my life, I'm just stumbling through most days hoping not to get hit by a bus.
Past Su would probably be horrified if she knew how slow her future self would be after all her hard work. But Past Su no longer exists; she is but a memory, and I won't be held captive to a memory of a skill set that used to be sharper than it is now. Present Su is the one who is here now, the one who has to put the shoes on daily and head out.
And presently, she's happy that morning running is sloooooooowly coming round again. I've missed that during the winter.