I went out fast yesterday, and today I don't even know what I did. I didn't think. I went out for eleven miles in crisp beautiful autumn weather, and I ran, feeling myself, feeling the weather, thinking, trying to make decisions, evaluate things, ponder things. It was not a run where I was pushing myself. I may have been running 7 minute miles. I may have been running 15 minute miles. But I don't think it was either; was probably someplace in between. I pushed sometimes. I daydreamed sometimes. I was just doing it. That's all it's about.
For me, anyway. Wayne is obsessed with time, with place, with "how many people came to your run," with "how fast did you do that in." To me, that sometimes makes it dirty. Yes, I have goals, but sometimes, I'm out there to just enjoy myself.
Sometimes we forget how to enjoy ourselves. Sometimes we forget what enjoying ourselves means. And sometimes we are so far from everything we once knew/thought/realized that we need to do these runs to get back there.
And so I run...
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