small miracles

For two weeks in a row now, I have made it out to Kensington. I was on time at 8am in the wildly warmer 15 degrees. At least the sun was shining and it was glorious. It's really a beautiful route out there, through the woods, around the lake and away from city congestion and traffic.

Something remarkable happened that morning. I ran for 4.25 miles until I took a walking break. 4.25 miles! Talk about a rush of excitement and self-congratulation. Whatever, I am doing, must be working. I walked for the next quarter of a mile then ran the last .5 for a grand total of 5 miles out at the park.

I was whooped. I still am whooped. I think this new stress on my body of more than 20 miles a week of running is going to take some adjusting to. I'm tired as well. My body is acting out. I have a cold sore. It's disgusting. I am not feeling too crafty or loquacious for this blog post. Although, like my mom pointed out, if my body is going to act out, better a cold sore, than an actual cold that would run me down and keep me in bed. Let's hope that doesn't happen.

{PS: From one evolved bipedal mammal to all the others, Happy Darwin Day!}