Oh, hi again. This was such a momentous occasion that I thought it deserved it's own post.

I went for a run on Sunday, for the first time in months. MONTHS. Like, 6 months.

Last fall, we were going to the gym all the time. Every day, for 3 or 4 months, we'd get on the early ferry and head straight for the treadmill. We were doing so well for so long and then, as the weather started getting worse and it started getting super dark outside, we stopped getting up when the alarm went off, voting to slam the snooze and cuddle up instead. To stay warm, of course.

So, now that it's like...25 degrees out there AND in our house and the sun rises before the roosters (they are on island time), we really have no excuses. Kurt has been back in the gym for about a month now, but me? Not so much. I've been more focused on getting better, sleeping better, eating better (another FAIL lately) and, unfortunately, have let the feeling better part of the equation slide. On Sunday, on a whim, I dragged my running shoes and intervals watch out of where they had been hiding and took them for a run. And you know what? It wasn't so bad. Considering that I have done basically no physical exercise since late November, I was surprised at being able to run at all. I made it through about half an hour of running/walking and felt OK by the time I got back to the apartment and even felt pretty OK that night.

And then today I wanted to kick the yesterday Me's ass, because my legs are KILLING ME. It was even painful to sit in a beach chair and tan, because even when they aren't moving, my legs are hurting. I'm being punished for months of slothy behavior and I know it.



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