100 Words Per Mile: Chasing a Stupid Kind of Joy

I'm running again. I'm collecting more. My niece pretends to be sick.

August 29, 2021
3.04 miles
34:47

Today was my first real return to routine! I drove to Bill’s house this morning, and he indulged me with a three-mile run around his neighborhood. He’d just done a five-mile race on the beach the evening before and had done a short run of his own before I arrived. I thought we might get to four miles, but he was too beat, which was perfectly okay. I have a habit of pushing myself too hard sometimes.

It’s a remarkable thing, when your body does what you want it to do. I felt no limitations, even when we ran up and down a bridge, and by the end of it, I wanted to do more. I eventually ended up shooting the basketball a bit at my house and it’s there I can still feel the limitations in my foot. As a right-handed shooter, it’s more natural for me to lift off my left foot, but because of the surgery, I can’t quite get up when I’m close to the hoop. I used to be able to smack the rim on a ten-foot hoop, but now I’m coming up way short.

Running with Bill was still worth it though, because I got to see his six-month old daughter and get all mushed up for the future. When I see someone else’s kid, it’s easy to see their parents in them. How my niece looks or how Bill’s daughter looks make perfect sense to me—yet, when I try to imagine what my little girl is going to look like, I just can’t picture it. To be fair, I didn’t spend months obsessing over what those babies would like. They were born and I saw them for who they were.

We’re about seven weeks away from our due date—about seven weeks from everything changing for the better forever. I’m starting to think I might be able to get to a half marathon before she is born. If I can run eight miles or so by the middle of September, I might start looking for one. I’ve got to set the example early. I’ve got to be as willing to put in the work as I expect her to be.