Getting the writing done a little bit later than I’d rather. But such is life. I still have yet to miss a day or a deadline, and that’s something. In fact, I sat down to write tonight at 9pm telling myself, “just get the 900 words and sack out,” and my ink-crazed id-writer half kept me going all the way to 1400 words, where my clearer-thinking half realized that if the rest of us didn’t get together and stop him soon, he might keep us up and writing all night, so we tagged him with the tranq gun (yeah, there’s a tranq gun in my head for when my other mes get out of hand, what do YOU use??) and he’s taking a little nappy-nap now. And YES, it’s considered to be late at night at 10:30, I’m the parent of a toddler and THIS IS MY LIFE.
Spring Break is halfway over — actually more than halfway, now that today’s at an end — and that’s sad.
Two things from today.
First of all, I had my first post-podiatrist run on my not-actually-shattered foot, now infused with cortisone, AKA liquefied unicorn horn, AKA jumpin’ jamba juice, AKA I-don’t-know-what-pain-is-anymore happy medicine. Seriously, in my first contiguous three-mile run in over a month, I felt not a tweak of pain or discomfort or “wrongness” in the heel, and nothing since. Not only was there no pain, but I found myself running faster and easier than I have in months. I kept going faster than I wanted to and reminding myself to slow down, which, for a runner, is sort of like asking your torturers to give you a few more lashes and really take their time with the thumbscrews. The run over, I iced it and stretched the foot, per doctor’s orders, and for today at least, it’s holding up fine.
What’s not holding up fine, on the other hand, are my lungs, for two reasons. First, I’m out of shape. Not running consistently since basically December has reduced my conditioning to (for me) pitiful levels, and I cut the run short today as much out of an inability to breathe enough as out of caution not to overwork the heel. Second, spring seems to have sprung here in Georgia, and if you’ve ever been in Georgia in the merry merry months of springtime, you know that the trees are mating, and their yellow, uh, genetic legacy just lays like a blanket over EVERYTHING. We had an honest-to-goodness deluge of rain at the beginning of the week, and in the two days since, the pollen has piled up enough that our blue car is now blue-under-a-fine-misting-of-vomit-yellow. The breeze stirs and you see it swirling like a desert sandstorm. The trees rustle and it comes cascading down like the yellow snowfall of your nightmares. When it rains again, the rivers and streams will look like streams of snot. So me, I go out for my first run in a week, and as much as it’s a nice day out, I’m breathing in these coarse particulates by the metric sharknado-ton. Oh, but I’m not breathing so much as gasping for my life, so I don’t even have the benefit of the filtration system in the nose, no, it’s all going straight down the gullet and powdering the inside of my lungs. I feel confident that if you could shine a blacklight into my trachea, my entire respiratory system would fluoresce with this gunk.
So I’m hacking up what looks like powdered yellow-cake uranium, but I had a good run, so that’s awesome. And I got my writing done for today, and that’s awesome too.
I wish there was more cleverness to be had in this post, but the id-writer is snoring so hard over there with that dart in his neck that he woke the neighbor’s dog up. Nothing but drool and night terrors for that guy. What a mess.