Since Chicago , my running has been incredibly inconsistent. Let's let numbers tell the tale. Here are my monthly miles since October, when I ran the Chicago Marathon.
October 2009 - 63 miles
November 2009 - 63 miles
December 2009 - 38 miles (uh oh)
January 2010 - 20 miles (doh!)
February 2010 - 49 miles
March 2010 - 45 miles
Not good. Almost worse than the raw numbers is that I've gained all my weight back, my speed is back to where it was [~10:00/mile], and when I run, I feel like 's Monster -- a hulking, lumbering mass of re-animated flesh. Last Tuesday, I went on a trail run with some folks from our local Hiking Meetup, and I almost instantly started breathing like . I couldn't keep up and eventually quit in shame and frustration after less than two miles.
I've got to get my shit together. I have to reboot. Again.
Fortunately, I have experience with that. Running is endlessly humbling that way. The incessant march of years makes me ever slower as I age. There's always someone faster than me pushing a baby stroller. The level of fitness I struggle for disappears so quickly if my training lapses, and the pounds I shed, ounce by bitter ounce, come flooding back with every and chicken wing. I fail and recover, fail and recover, and fail again. But what running has taught me is that restarting, though humiliating and painful, feels better than giving up. Getting back just 90% of what I had before beats the hell out of regret and self-loathing.
So here I am. Back to writing in this obscure, neglected blog. Back to in earnest. Back to reclaim consistency . Back to losing weight. Perhaps, even, back to marathons.