I just read Julie Goodale's post on Fitness for Survivors about running your own race, physically and metaphorically.
A breast cancer survivor and ultra-marathoner, she was referring to her recent 100-mile race, in which she vowed to not compare herself to others. This is good all-around advice.
In that spirit, I will say that I ran one mile over the weekend – once around the lake – and maybe a little more because I went to and from my house. Over the weekend it seemed like every other runner was wearing a different colored St. Patrick's Road Race T-shirt. I dug through my drawers to find my latest one, from 2012. I wondered if I could do the race again. Maybe, maybe not.
In wanting to run, I am not trying to prove anything. My feet start on their own. My mind picks up a beat.
In other sporting news, I played my first round robin in months last night. I held my own. Some people hit it harder than I can, but thanks to George I can (sometimes) neutralize these strokes with spins and slices. Afterwards, some of us sat and talked. I had a delicious chocolate cookie with M&Ms.
The weekend was great. I had a special guest, one of my high school BFFs, Emily. We walked with friends (and dog), went to yoga, enjoyed coffee and conversation and had a candle-lit dinner party in which I took out my mother's silver.
And then last night, the "Breaking Bad" finale. It all came together so beautifully.
This morning, writing and cleaning up, then a walk. It's nice to have a 6-year-old dog who waits patiently in her corner of the couch while I get things done.
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