And Then I Said I Don't Care

I had a host of suggestions about the leg issue, most of which equaled it's probably sciatica and I wasn't trying to hear all of that. I took a muscle relaxer yesterday and napped. I woke up this morning and chilled out a good long time (3 episodes of Handmaid's Tale) and did stretches and then I strapped on my headphones and headed out.
It wasn't some amazeballs event. I stuck the C25k app back on day one - because that's the day my legs seem to like best, turned up the music and WENT. My shins and calves went numb at one point. My quads disliked some hills I encountered. I felt that tugging, overwhelming feeling that I'm just too damn big to even be doing this.

I kept going.
My friend Bobby gave me this shirt before I moved away from Kentucky. He folded it up nicely and presented it to me as though it were frankincense or myrrh. It's one of my last memories of him. He died horribly in a plane crash about a year later.

I put on his shirt for inspiration. Bobby would run. Bobby would push. Bobby would cheer me on and know that doing something badly was better than doing nothing well.

So that's me. I'm running because Bobby can't, and because I can. I'm running because I was told I couldn't. So I do.

I'm not stopping.
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