My Baby Thinks He's a Train


Well, he doesn't really (he might think he's a car, but that's a different post). But it's a great song. Early Roseann Cash. The photo is BART, of course, and its chatter as it whooshes by overhead is part of the dawn chorus I enjoy when I'm running from the night into the day. Did 5.25 this morning, and the sky was light when I got back to the house around 5:30 a.m. I find this the most wonderful time of year.

Yes, after a long blogging hiatus, I'm here to tell you I'm still running along. My feet still hurt, but laying off from running is more painful than having hot feet. I have an appointment in a couple of weeks with a podiatrist who is the son of a running crony, and am hoping that he will offer some new insight into an active rehabilitation (translation: he'll tell me it's OK to keep running).

To catch up: Z and I did the Avenue of the Giants half marathon May 7. It was lovely -- perfect cool day -- and I beat him by more than a minute. Now don't go thinking we're competitive with each other. No, not much. I didn't feel at my peak that day, but was happy to finish and to better my last year's time by more than eight minutes.

Since the race I've backed off my mileage a bit because both feet (especially the left) are just not that well. I've refrained from registering for the SF half marathon, at the end of July, because I don't think I'll want to do it if the feet aren't a bit better. I can always register on race day!

I've done 10.5 miles this week, and probably won't do any more until after next Monday, when I am scheduled for a day of fun and games with the colonoscopy gang. The thrills just never stop in this life, now do they. At least I'll probably have time to blog some more.

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