five miles

I started running five miles each day. I also tried to increase the speed a bit. By two miles I was already finished, and could not envision adding 150% to my so-far output. Gasping, panting, stumbling, I somehow did. I finished five miles days in a row. The pain that outlined the muscles of my thighs after each session went higher now, up into my buttocks, as if it had gleefully discovered more territory to infiltrate. I guessed that was good. I was asking each time, myself or the gods, why I can’t just have a lukewarm life, why I can’t just stay home and skip the treadmill and the exertion and the sweat. I did not need to do this. But just the thought of giving up depressed me. The prospect of having to do six miles next week depressed me as well.