For the nth time, I started again this morning. I started a routine that I hope I could do repeatedly at least every other day: run 5 kilometers, hopefully 8 after that, then 10 kilometers again and, maybe later, more.
The past few months have seen my mileage dwindling. 60 kilometers in January, 58 in February, a little more than halfway down from the 118 in January. The highest I have had in the past 12 months was 170 in May last year yet. Mileage had been on a consistent up-and-down trend, mostly on the downside, since then. Work demands, the occasional laziness, I blame these for all that, and then there's age slowly catching up with me.
But I am not one to easily believe that it's time to stop and give up. I have tried and failed several times already to get back to a consistent routine. Still I persist. There is that something inside that tells me it will all come back again. Maybe not the way it was five or six years ago, the best years of my second wind, but close.
And so I haven't grown tired of trying. Not just yet. Not just yet.