By the time I have gotten to work, I have largely shaken it off. In fact, the warmth of the shower helped to wash most of the sensation clean.
I ran in the morning, nearly first-thing, but didn’t make it as far as I wanted. As I am picking out clothes for the day, I am feeling fairly down on myself about it. I am back in Boston, and back on the hills and peaks of Commonwealth Ave. The cold and extra layers were duking it out for my body heat.
I was coming down Beacon Street, starting to feel some stomach pain (I had yet to eat breakfast), and some knee pain, and I just… stopped. I turned a corner and got off the main street, and slowed to a walk. I had a million excuses, needing to get back in time for work, the leg pain, my ankle’s continued stiffness. But, at the end of the run, I felt like I copped out.
Whether or not that’s the case, I am not entirely certain. I think that’s where the self-doubt got a foothold. Then, the unsatisfied exercise voice chimed in that I hadn’t done enough.
I have some apprehension about this voice. It’s new, not one I have really had before I started running. But, it seems to be more born of determination than of self-doubt. Of trying to reach a goal, than of trying to tear myself down.
When I gave up, the mission was no more than halfway done.
Shirt of the Day: Atari Entertainment Systems
Odd Pickup of the Day: A Scrap of Newspaper.