I am a few weeks into this revolutionary year, and only just beginning to make heads or tails of my priorities. I have a list, so that’s good. Now, I need to determine a pecking order so that the days don’t end with my simply staring at what needs to be done and with no idea where to begin.
In a nutshell, I am working to become the things I am currently not: thinner, kinder (read: patient…less snarky), and a published author.
Am currently visiting London; my favorite town. Land of great accents, easy pints, and royalty.
Determined to keep on track, I went out for a run the morning after I arrived. Bear in mind that my “style” of running involves a slow start, a steady middle, a stop for stretching and lunges, steady again, a sprint, and then a quick walk to cool down before taking on some steps…all the while, I am shriek-breathing and my face is soaked with sweat and bulging red. Not pretty. And let me say that I run because I see lots of other people doing it and I usually like how I feel afterwards…not because I do it well. In my defense, I have short legs, which means I have to work harder than most people. (I try applying this excuse to far too many things. Hey ho.)
Back in the States, I live in a neighborhood where I can get out and do my routine and not have my self-consciousness assaulted by anyone other than El Salvadorian and Taiwanese grannies out for a stroll in parachute track suits and white visors, but here…here I was greeted by a muscle-y personal trainer (said so on his shirt) in camo pants training a fit looking man and then I passed a guy walking his hounds who was altogether so good-looking, that I think God took a breather after creating him and patted himself on the back.
I ran really hard. I mean, running is hard, and I am no small thing, so there’s that. Additionally, my body still fully believed it was 3am EST and also knew, better than I did, that we hadn’t been back in the routine quite solidly enough to get away with that sort of intensity, but I didn’t listen. I wasn’t going to look like a pansy out there in front of handsome people I would never see again…And here I am, two days later and I can finally walk again. My knees are still revolting in response to my foolishness, so when I move, it’s a jerky toddle. Never mind. Point is, I’m on the road again…travelling and running, and it feels great. Mentally.