It is cold out, and far too early on a Saturday morning. I shift my legs from walking into a slow run. My knees creak a little, and my hamstrings whine. My brain dreams of all the things I could be doing, warm in my house, as I push off along a dreary college track with my running club.
I come into the first turn, slowly, gingerly. My legs protest with each step. Muscles are tight and unwilling to loosen without a fight. The cold air burns my lungs, and makes my fingers sting. "Just stop," whispers that one corner of my brain, as I round the curve in the track."It's been a few days, you're too tired for this."
I come so close to stopping, but as I finish the turn and come out on the back straight, I choose instead to keeping going.
"Shut up," I say out loud. No one is near enough to hear me. "Just shut up and do this."
My brain simmers down. My legs warm up. I get in a rhythm.
Two miles later, I stop.
Three years ago, I would have quit.
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