This year seems to be powered by high-grade rocket fuel and frankly, I’m a little peeved at how quickly the days are flying by. The hours are stumbling into each other in their haste to be over with: I watched the full moon disappear over the horizon last week like a thief with a good haul—quick and quiet. So, with all this rush, rush, rush how’s the running motivation holding up, you might wonder…
The enthusiasm to put takkies to tarmac is still there but the thicket of excuses is proving more tricky to deal with in that they are hydra-like, cut off one and two more slink up. Where do excuses come from? From some lazy-ass part of the brain, that’s where. Some slothful synapse gets the message that running is in its near future and it starts firing off excuses like some newbie with a machine gun on automatic. Rat-a-tat-tat-tat the excuses hit and the fingers start faltering on the laces. Sigh.
So yeah, that wretched synapse is always going to be firing off excuses and I have to smoosh them down everyday—are you with me on this? I’m happy with my weekly mileage but I have bigger plans for the weekend and am going to have to break out my St. George sword to slay the bigger excuses. Can’t wait.