Bizarro (4/12/10)

I had an idea this morning: to get up early, throw on some workout clothes, and run for the first time in 13 years. Sure, I hopped on the treadmill at my local YMCA last summer, but it had been ages since I ran outside, seriously, for any length of time. Then I went on my honeymoon, breezed through Haruki Murakami’s memoir, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, and was inspired to take it up again. I planned out a 2.5 mile route, woke at the crack of dawn, ran three blocks (0.4 miles, as it turns out), and became winded. Winded might be a generous way of putting it. I felt as if my heart was going to explode. But as I walked back to my house, I resolved to try again the next day, and the next day, and the next day, until I was able to enjoy a brisk morning run around my neighborhood.

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