You’re finally home.
The weather is cold and dark.
You’ve just returned home after two fun-filled days of eating, drinking and game playing at your relative’s house.
You also played 18 holes of golf on a sloppy course.
Nothing would feel better than kicking off your shoes, laying down on your leather couch and mentally absorbing your newly acquired copy of “The Watchmen” graphic novel.
But the joggling streak calls. It can’t die today. Plus, you’re only 1.5 miles away from your goal of running 1800 miles for the year.
This is was my predicament last night.
I suspended my haggard hankerings and donned my joggling threads.
Outside, the frigid Chicago wind kissed me on the cheeks reminding me of the sunburn I earlier received on the golf course.
Pain is temporary.
My legs wanted to be back in the house too. As I started them up, they sent pain echoing throughout my body.
The run was slow and the joggling sloppy. One Gballz hit the ground after only 95 seconds.
Picking it up was excruciating.
I resumed joggling and tried to brighten my mood. Forced smiling sometimes helps. Not tonight. Smiles from people passing or honking cars also helps. No one was out. It seemed the foul mood persist the whole distance.
But about four minutes into the run I angrily threw a ball high in the air. It flew nearly 30 feet up. As it cleared the top of the light pole, my attention shifted to the catch.
Gone was the bitter cold stinging my skin.
Gone were the resonating leg pains.
Even the joggling streak and 1800 miles of running were gone from my mind.
There was only an accelerating bean bag plummeting to Earth.
I focused my gaze, adjusted my pace, and put my gloved hand in its path a tenth of a second before it landed on the salty, wet concrete sidewalk.
When it returned to my hand the standard cascade pattern resumed. But my foul mood did not.
My mind was filled with random thoughts of good times. Holiday cheer, laughs, and camaraderie. I continued to reflect on the year before. The 50 mile joggling feat, the sweltering Chicago marathon, the Florida marathon, the hours of joggling training in the sun, the rain, and the wind, the joggling streak and the stretch goal of 1800 miles in year.
Time whipped by and when I sprinted to the final sidewalk slab of the run, I looked at my watch.
One of the slowest runs of my entire year. But it didn’t matter. I’d done it. I’d just joggled 1800+ miles before the end of the year. And I don’t care how slow it was. I was happy.
May you achieve all your goals in 2008.