I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m a runner now. I started running on the treadmill at my Orangetheory classes last year, just thirty seconds or so at a time. And then I kept running, getting up to sixteen slow minutes in class. Then I decided to take it outside in August to see if I wanted to be a runner yet. I’ve been on this road-to-running many times in my life, but maybe this time it would stick. Not that it has to. My dad was an asshole about a lot of things, including “fitness,” but in his old age had mellowed. If it doesn’t feel good, don’t do it, was the advice he gave me in the past decade or so. If I didn’t enjoy running, I wouldn’t do it.
Sunday’s ride took me to the YMCA to meet O. for friend/weightlifting time and then to Charles Village for a sandwich and then to Remington to see what all the fuss is about, because I hear that’s where all the cool kids are moving these days. I zigged and zagged, stopped to pick up this week’s CSA produce (hard squash are back!), and followed Sisson to the end, because the ladyfriend promised if I did that I’d get to see a bus graveyard, and she was pretty sure I’d like it. She was right. Continue reading