So today, in 68 degree weather, I set out in the afternoon to do seven miles. Which I did, by burning up a neighborhood mile first, then doing a large loop around the greater neighborhood and adding a mile on the W&OD Trail at the end. The impetus to get going was shaky, as I was listening to my body talk to my brain the first mile, telling me my joints hurt, my breathing was ragged, and a mile would be a good output; it would count for entry in my weekly tally.
I kept going though and got all seven miles done. I run alone these days because every single running partner I ever had has dropped away most due to moving away, a few to injury and a couple to inertia. Since my surgery in the summer I've struggled with my weight and have bemoaned my dropped-away friendships but that's life, it's always moving forward towards inevitable and unavoidable change.
So now I'm carrying a ten-pound barbell every time I run these days. However, that beats carrying the sixty-pound anvil I was carrying on runs when I was trying to come back from injury in 2011. Running more (or harder) is only half of the equation though, next I'll have to address the other half of the equation by eating less (or better).