Readers may well have doubted that I would, in fact, start running on Wednesday mornings as well as Sundays, but my poor showing three days ago impelled me to try again this morning. The sound of rain at 4:00 AM, and my expectation of chilly weather, combined to damp my ardour for getting back on track; and as I laced up my trainers I felt my legs go all leaden. Nonetheless I strode intently to the door and launched a mile run.
The good news Part One is that I pushed my ‘didn’t break stride’ distance a half block to Aston Street. In many ways, this is the most important bit of the whole exercise for me: If I can, when I can eventually go the whole mile without breaking stride, times will take care of themselves. These were often only baby-running-steps, but they kept up momentum, and I pushed further (Aston St is more than a third of the whole mile). The good news Part Two is that I regained almost thirty seconds over Sunday, clawing back to a clean 12:00.
I still don’t like running. I still affirm Click and Clack, the Tappet Brothers’ adage that for every minute you spend running, you add a minute to your life (such that if you eschew strenuous working out, all you miss is the time you would have spent working out anyway). But there’s a lot I have left to do, including making sure I’m there for Margaret as long as I can be, so hammering this weary flesh into somewhat more functional condition is probably worth the effort.