I have been kicking my own ass, quite literally. There are bruises all up and down the back of my left thigh. I know where they come from, they come from my own sneakers.

Five days a week I carry my sneakers with me wherever I go, because my day will end with a run. My shoulder bag is not big enough for all my running gear, so I tie the laces together and hang my sneakers off the back strap of the bag. They dangle there, swinging back and forth, whacking me on the back of the leg.

I didn’t really notice this until this week. In the subway station I have a funk groove with full horn section blaring in my ears and I am stalking down the long platform like a sleek caged zoo animal. All my muscles feel strong, elongated, and I am thrilled with sensation of physical competence, elegance. And I am probably too conceited, wearing my sneakers on the outside of my bag like a proud badge of athleticism, slinking around like god’s own wonderful creation, and I realize that whack whack whack on my leg as I groove actually, really, hurts. Kinda a lot. Later I look, and for sure, I have days’ worth of round bruises from the toes of the shoes kicking my dumb, prideful ass.

My training runs are incredibly intense for this month, and after finishing, I barely have two brain cells to rub together, never mind words, and so the paucity of posting here. I won’t bore with all the numbers, ratios, extrapolations, pacing, but so far, it is going very well. I kick (my own) ass!