Some days I can't wait to head out the door and let my feet hit the pavement. But even with my slightly unrealistically optimistic attitude those days are still far and few between.
What does that even mean, "far and few between?"
Anyways...
As the clock approached nap time for baby, my internal clock was pointing me towards my own bed. Despite the welcoming, beckoning, wonderful call of sleep I managed to mind-over-body myself out of the house.
After attempting a new route with the jogger (not very successful{silly tree roots bumpifying the sidewalk, and cars driving way too fast on the road}) I resorted to my usual loop. The steady pounding of my feet felt good. My pace is less than fast, but something about the consistency sounded strong. Feeling strong makes me smile.
Writing about the run paints a funny picture in my mind: fatigued woman, drenched with sweat, trudging up a hill with a jogging stroller, smiling to herself.
Makes me sound delusional. Or inspirational. Or delusional.
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