In the past two weeks, I have only run once, a slow five kilometers at 44.05 minutes. The entire week after that I just snoozed the alarm everytime it sounded every morning and stayed in bed until 5 am, just like the week before. The lazy bug has struck again.
I guess it's also not that easy anymore getting up and gearing up for a run every single time five or six days in seven when you are six decades and a few years old. The age catches up with you somehow and putting in a hundred-kilometer month requires a lot more recovery time than it did several years back. That's not really bad, I guess it's just natural. What's bad is not being able to put in a run anymore.
Yesterday, arriving here and seeing that fairly long stretch of white sand shoreline, I told myself: It would be good to run here in the morning and maybe take a dip in the sea water after. I did just that and felt pleasure, with a touch of a slightly stinging sensation on the sole of my right forefoot, not quite unnatural I suppose after quite a while without it experiencing the stress of running.
There was heavy breathing the whole time, from me solely. It was not something I was fond of. I would rather be breathing more lightly, and feeling lighter on my feet, too. But I felt alive, laboring but alive nonetheless, and that is most exhilarating.
From natural stonewall to natural stonewall on the two outcrops that sandwiched the shoreline, I ran close to where the waves kissed the white sand, like a child at play. I did a double pass and then some. Five kilometers in 41.48 minutes.
I won't be a national level competitor anytime soon or even break a record other than my own personal one if ever, although I sometimes think I can and often dream I do. It's all wishful thinking, I know. Especially at my age.
But being able to still put in a run when I want, I believe that is a blessing.
