Keepin' on Keepin' On

Spent some time today cleaning out my filing cabinet. I'm trying to impose a little order upon my working space now that I'm doing some freelancing and working in a "home office" (sounds more professional than "the corner of the bedroom").

I awoke this morning with what I call the Saturday morning bloopies, a state that others have been known to describe as a brain fog. Luckily Z dragged me first to the grocery store (I'll take three gallons of ice cream and a bag of cookies, please) and then to the gym. Because of my shoulder I can't really lift weights, but I ran a mile on the treadmill and worked the old quads and hamsters and back a bit. Did some crunches and bicycle kicks too, which no doubt looked a bit strange done by a person only flailing one arm.

The bloopies dissipated a bit. Came home and ate peanut butter and jelly on a toasted whole wheat bagel, plus half an orange and half an apple--the rest went to Z, of course.

Then I dove head-first into the files. The sweetest relics I found were letters and cards from my beautiful children, who seem to have honored me with loving thoughts on my birthday and on Mother's Day countless times over the years. I want to stay healthy as long as I can if only to stay as long as possible in a world where they live.

Also found some school photos of the daughters of my nephew the FN. Three cute little girls, all of whom are now adults.

Then I came across some running souvenirs, some from races I'd forgotten I ever did. I started running in 1978, almost half a lifetime ago. I won the first race I ever entered, a 2-mile fun run, and thus established for myself an unrealistic set of expectations that I've never quite shaken. Probably a good thing. If I didn't believe in my secret heart of hearts that I could be a winner, what would keep me blazing through those 10-K's doing my 11-minute mile pace?

The two best racing momentos I came across were my certificate from my first half marathon (the one in Ukiah, which Z came to with me--our first big weekend "date") and my certificate from the San Francisco Marathon, which took place on Bastille Day, 1996. It was my first marathon--ten years ago!

Tomorrow I'm set to do a six-miler. These days as I run I put my right arm in various positions, sticking with each one until the shoulder aches too much and then moving on to another. I saw the ortho doc last week, and he took a new X-ray and showed me where the bone is healing nicely. This means I have the go-ahead to do more aggressive, painful physical therapy. How nice. But I'm feeling optimistic, in spite of the nighttime pain I still have--the most aggravating aspect of this whole thing for the time being. I sleep like the princess who detected the pea: stacked up on a complicated nest of various-sized pillows that I pack around me in an effort to minimize the aching. I've taken some vicodin, but really have no taste for it. Probably good.

It is 10 to 9 and still not dark. I'll say it again--summer is the best.

The photo at the top of this post? It's one of the sights on my regular running route. I think it's a quail, although Z calls it a chicken.