I love to run. My runs have walks interspersed in them. I freely admit that: I run till I feel like walking, and then I walk till I feel like running. The point is, I feel like doing it, however the equation presents itself on any given day. Some days I go a mile, some days I go 7.5 miles. I am not locked into any Mile/5K/Half/Full Marathon training. I am not lean and trim, not a greyhound. I am overweight, but in fairly good shape in spite of it. I just head down the road because I like to.
So that Spouse o' Mine and I went four and five miles, respectively, yesterday. I started out running counter-clockwise around our section, and the plan was that he would head out sometime later, clockwise, and we would meet up somewhere and he would double-back with me. Now, here is the BIG NOTE: He has not run one stride in over a year. What made him think he should go out and do four miles?
This morning after coffee, and breakfast, I decided to knock off my "Mile-a-Day" before church. Off I went down the road, half a mile, and back. I felt OK. It was not a fast mile, by any measure. But, I did it. I even paid attention to the sermon afterwards. (Somewhat.)
That Spouse o' Mine, who is very athletically inclined, has been hobbling around the house all day, and yet? He decides to do his mile around noon.
Oh, my goodness. Limpy the Lion. I told him to take an aspirin. (My answer for anything. Really. Aspirin is a Godsend. It only takes one.)
And that's where we are on this Sunday eve. I am a slow runner who walks whenever she darn well pleases, and Limpy the Lion maybe had too much testosterone flowing in his veins.