A mile

It wasn't much of a run, only a solitary single mile in the 'hood.  I covered it in about 13 minutes, extraordinary slow even for my age, wherein I'll be full-retirement eligible for social security in a matter of weeks.  The notable thing to me was that it was a non-stop mile, the first non-stop mile that I had done in ten months, and I even broke a sweat during it in the unseasonably temperate 52 degree weather.

It might be a start to a return to what passes for fitness, at least I certainly hope so.  My plan is to do a mile three times a week for a couple of weeks and then start bumping up the mileage from there.  I well remember from my coaching days the dictum of only increasing mileage each week by ten percent, lest you court injury.

In a nod to my constant ankle woes these days, which threw me off of all running during the past year, I wore braces on both ankles and even stretched both achilles tendons before and after the jog.  I resisted succumbing to the constant warnings flitting through my mind even as I was huffing and puffing while I plodded along that I could feel twinges in both achilles and the ignored the mental commands to stop before I became a candidate for The Boot again.  The finish point of my lumber, my driveway on the short out-and-back jaunt, came into view a block away yet seemed to be receding instead of coming closer as I ran towards it.

But I made it to driveway finally, happy that I'd met my first (very modest) running goal this year, and I stopped gratefully and went inside the house, wheezing.  My run of about a mile and a half with my friend in the District a couple of days earlier was a good beginning but it was full of starts and stops, so this little outing was an immeasurably better start to my hopeful return to form, plus I was alone and thus more inclined to agree with my frantic, oxygen-deprived brain and slow to a walk somewhere during the second half of the barely elevated perambulation.  We'll see if this is truly the beginning of my return to good times.