The next day, we forget that running is uncomfortable. THE NEXT DAY! Something always hurts, taking breaths is a struggle, making the limbs obey is a struggle. We pant and gasp and walk like zombies back to our cars where we guzzle water. We get home and ice our knees or calves and moan. We sleep. Then, like the Etch-A-Sketch-for-brains we are we think "wow, the weather is great for running today". What sane person does this? (I say with an air of incredulity as if I AM sane)
The constant tearing down is what builds us up. Such an imitation of life, no? I need to write this so I can read it later for when my logical brain tries to tell me that running is too hard and I should stop.
The half marathon is in January. (insert panic attack here). I just need to finish... before the cripple cart comes and scrapes the rest of us off the pavement.