R
unning never felt so foreign.

On my run this afternoon I felt as if my body was shutting down. My legs felt like they forgot how to lift. My feet forgot how to land. My epidermis how to sweat.

It appeared as if I had made a huge mistake.

I had no flexibility. My legs were filled with wet sand.

I have been pursuing a vigorous core regimen over the last 14 days. The progress and strength is undeniable. But it comes with a heavy price. Muscle creates great weight when forged over time. Witness mistake number one.

My intake of lactose has also been moderately increased which breeds feels which are axiomatic. Today I had servings from this Faustian food group three times before I ran. Witness mistake number two.

By running with great frequency, failing to hit my recovery window, and inadequate stretching, coupled with lack of rest has led me into an wall of paralysis. Working through the schedule and regimen of another deadens the spirit and evokes nothing by self-sacrifice. Witness mistake number three.

The following were the most vivid impediments towards locomotive freedom. School yard brawls, inept traffic directors, excess of lactose, overdressing in slushy rain and black snow.

If this sport was this hard every time it was pursued, I can fundamentally say I would not ever attempt it. There are some days when I feel as if I was quite literally born to run.

Today was not one.