Day Three

I took Saturday and Sunday off. I relished my days off. I went out in the mornings and had my coffee and a cinnamon roll (because I earned it).  I went out to dinner on Sunday with my buddy Fernando (not his real name) and didn't drink too much. I fantasized about my Monday morning run and for some reason I imagined grace, I thought that I would have a new spring in my step.  I imagined that I would be like a young stag and I would glide over the pavement, float up the hills. I imagined slow claps from my fellow runners and maybe a high five from that weird looking dude that runs with his golden retriever.

Again.  A big fat nope.

I was passed by a baby for the love of fuck.  Granted, baby was in a stroller pushed by a guy who obviously runs a lot, but still. A baby. How do these people do it?  Everyday?  Do the knees stop hurting as much?  Does the pavement get softer?  I am sure there are a myriad of things that I am doing wrong; shoes, form, stretching, diet, breathing, thinking, etc...  But for the love of Allah does it get better???

My feeling is that the answer is no, but I imagine you become more zen with the pain.  My pain and I need to become pals. I have come to this conclusion using a single simple deduction which I gleaned from a life time of watching people run and that is this; NOBODY LOOKS HAPPY WHILST RUNNING!!!! Ever.  There must be a pain apparently.

So please.  Any advise?  Any mantra?  I find that I revert to angry thoughts and violent fantasies concerning Donald Trump and FOX and Friends and that is no good for my juju.