My oldest came along with me. In fact, once the hail started hitting the windshield, I would would have turned back if he hadn't suggested we see what was happening at the beach.
|K. along the beach.|
K. has agreed to come along with me to the beach once a week as a pacer. The sand slows him down, but I still have to push myself to keep up with him. But yesterday I didn't even try.
I have a strange, springy-twangy twinge along the sole of my left foot, and the sand had been packed hard as concrete by the hail.
Slow, easy, recovery pace. And since my normal pace is a normal runner's recovery pace, I mean slow.
Time to mistake sand-infused seaweed fronds for vipers, and - although my husband swears this is a photo of a dog's paw print - I still think it was a mountain lion sprung from one of my homesick hallucinations.
|You can see how swollen my foot is.|
It is now after noon and I am sitting here with my second espresso and the TV on in the background. There is a social network on three of the four tabs on my computer.
My summer "to do list" has been a vague charcoal sketch in the back of my mind that I have been almost afraid to look at. To commit to. And that's not the way to get things done. This isn't who "I am".
Because "I am": structured, discipline, productive... up at 5, down at 10:30; a veggie-squeezing, goal-oriented body-of-sunshine-and-happy-happy-joy-joy. So a third cup of coffee and pixelated accountability:
- De-clutter the basement
- De-clutter the kitchen
- Resume sleep schedule
- Detail plan the marathon training schedule
- Set off limited time for computer use
- Outline production schedule for HW libretto
- Begin editing Running Metaphor ms.