Written April 5, 2025
Hello Dear Readers,
Today’s 10K was less of a triumphant dash and more of a slow-motion struggle through a vat of soup. And not even the good kind. I had high hopes, but my target pace waved goodbye around kilometer three and disappeared into the haze. Disappointing? Yes. Defeated? Not quite.
Maybe it was the hours of mowing yesterday that zapped my energy. Maybe it was the humidity clinging to me like an overly affectionate sweater. Maybe both. Either way, my legs were staging a silent protest, and I wasn’t exactly in the mood for negotiations.
Running, I’ve realized, isn’t just about fitness. It’s about strategy. And in my case, environmental diplomacy. High humidity? Slippery slope. Bone-chilling cold? My body doesn’t thermoregulate like it used to. Wind, rain, pollution? I might as well be battling the elements in a Shakespearean tragedy.
This past week, Nashville’s spring air has been more “dust and doom” than “fresh and floral.” Toss in a humidity level that could make a rainforest jealous, and you’ve got the perfect storm for a sluggish run.
But here’s the thing—I log everything. Not because I’m obsessed with stats, but because I believe in the long view. My wife, ever the voice of reason (and wisdom), tells me not to ride the emotional rollercoaster of daily metrics. “Zoom out,” she says. “Don’t get caught up in the noise.” She’s right, of course. She usually is.
She barely checks her logs, preferring to focus on the process over the numbers. For her, it’s all about clear-headedness and Stoic discipline. No drama. No spirals. No “I ran three seconds slower, therefore I’m a failure” kind of thinking. Just steady progress.
I, on the other hand, am more of a grind-it-out type. Motivation is fleeting. Vision is sacred. Discipline is king. After all, I’ve clawed my way back from a place where simply moving my limbs felt like a miracle. Now, every step I take is a quiet rebellion against the limitations I once knew.
My wife often tells me she’s proud of me. That I’m her inspiration. She reminds me that not everyone bounces back from a brain stroke and decides to chase 10Ks for breakfast. She’s gently pushing me to become even healthier than I was before—and I’ve decided to take her advice literally.
Running is more than a hobby. It’s part of my mission to keep this body functioning, thriving, and dancing its way through life. Even when the weather’s rude. Even when my pace falls short. Even when progress feels like wading through molasses.
Success hasn’t shown up lately, but I know it’s lurking out there—probably waiting for the humidity to die down too. Until then, I’ll be tweaking, adjusting, experimenting. I may have overdone it early in the year, sprinting into a wall of fatigue, but that’s part of the journey. Now, I’m learning the rhythm of resilience. One humid, hopeful mile at a time.