four miles

Okay, so I was doing four miles now. Now meaning the second half of March. Walking, mostly. Not stressful really, unless I pushed myself for better time. The first four miles in one sitting were exhilarating (an enhanced, tangible victory, as any other increase of one mile, before or after). No weight loss, although I’d been at it for almost a month. Yet one morning when I was having coffee at the kitchen table, and enjoying the first cigarette of the day (yes, I know, I know, this detail doesn’t belong in marathon blog), I let my hand rest unawares on my upper leg, and I was surprised how hard the flesh was, the muscle stretching taut and firm under the skin, while my position was actually relaxed. I had build muscle, or I was just imagining it. I could not decide.

Staying at higher speeds (where high for me at the time was 4.2 miles/hour) knocked me out. I would start fresh and end up dragging myself over the treadmill, sweaty and out of breath. Four miles today, four miles tomorrow, and it didn’t get better. And I was just walking briskly. I could not envision running those four miles, never mind 26. Different varieties of pain flashed through my body, a weakness in the ankles, a snap in my lower back, a dull tension in my calves. Perhaps I was not fit for this. Perhaps I was too old.