Amy Reinink

Ernest Hemingway wrote in “The Sun Also Rises” that a man goes broke “gradually, and then suddenly.” This is a little bit like what my return to normal activity has been like, both in terms of my wrist’s pre-surgery function and my body’s pre-surgery fitness.

Regular readers of this blog know that it’s been a long, long road back to any sense of normalcy—and that my recent gains have been anything but sudden. I spent weeks waiting, then a few more weeks working my butt off, so logically, any gains I’ve made are well-deserved.

Still, I couldn’t help but be amazed when I woke up last Tuesday and found that I’d gained maybe 10 or 20 degrees of motion in my wrist, seemingly overnight. That night, I ran without my splint for the first time. If this doesn’t sound like a big deal, emotionally or physically, imagine running with a bulky, unwieldy backpack. Now, imagine you are terrified that if you remove the backpack, a part of your body will shatter. I not only lost a physical impediment, but some emotional baggage, too.

I’d promised to give myself six weeks of training, the same amount of time I was barred from doing any cardio, since my first run “back” on March 23 before holding myself accountable for any sort of pace or distance expectations. Six weeks is tomorrow, May 4, and I’m choosing to view that time as building base mileage. The real training can start now. Here’s what’s motivating me to shift into the next gear:

• I had my first therapy session a week and a half ago. It was really, really rough, so I rewarded myself by buying expensive bath products. The cutesy message on these Philosophy bath goods: Grace. Perfect. My real goal is to handle the inevitable setbacks and frustrations of therapy and continuing my return to full activity with grace, and these will serve as a nice reminder of that goal.
• I’ve signed up for the ZOOMA Annapolis 10k on June 6! It’s a new, more scenic course, but promises the same wine tastings, spa treatments and other girlie treats at the post-race festival.  The weekend after, I will most likely be doing the Clifton Caboose 5K. I say “most likely” because even though my first attempt at swimming felt like I was working with a rake rather than a right arm, I still haven’t 100 percent ruled out the 1-Mile Chesapeake Bay Bridge Swim on June 14.
• Some new songs:  Death Cab for Cutie—Charming Man. Download this now, even if you’re not typically a fan of Death Cab; this Smiths cover is fantastic! Also try Jay-Z—Lucifer, and Cunnylinguists—Linguistics.

What’s motivating you this week?

After I ran what I initially considered a disappointing 5K time at the Silver Spring Earth Day 5K on April 19, I promised myself I’d be more patient as I plotted my comeback to full activity. I decided that if I raced again anytime soon, I would have no time expectations for myself, and that I may just postpone the whole racing thing altogether as my body slowly regains fitness after six weeks of no cardio at all following wrist surgery (not to mention the toll surgery itself takes on the body).

Me running a disappointing race at the Silver Spring Earth Day 5K a week ago.

Then, last Thursday, we started talking about running the Crystal City 5K Fridays series in Arlington the next night. We were so certain we were not going to run it, I ran hard on Thursday (to be honest, every run is a hard one these days!). But Friday was such a beautiful, clear spring day. And the race course is flat and fast. And it was only $15 per person to register the night of the race. And a few of our running buddies said they’d do it with us. And there was a post-race party that included free beer. Suddenly, being sore and out of shape seemed a silly reason to sit out a fun time.

Runners at the start of the first Crystal City 5K a few Fridays ago.

My goal for the Crystal City 5K on Friday night: to run my little heart out, and to cross the finish line smiling. And guess what? I totally did! I ran a time very similar to last weekend’s, finishing in 25:29 for 8:12-minute miles (that was hard to write, but moving on…). I enjoyed every painful minute of it, and when I met up with Steve and my other running buddies after the race, they all said they saw me smiling as they passed me at various turnaround points. While I still would have preferred to run a 24-something rather than a 25-something, I had a great time, which is the only good reason to do a 5K like that, anyway.

There’s one more race left in the Crystal City 5K Fridays series, and I’d highly recommend Washington-area runners consider doing it. The course truly is flat, and the atmosphere is low-key and laid-back. The field stays pretty crowded for the first mile, so if you care about your time, don’t count on being able to catch up to your pace group after starting in the back (not that I know anyone who did that … ).

Also, the post-race party was pretty spectacular, despite being a bit of a hike from the finish line. It featured a deejay, a dude playing bongo drums, a projector with a reel of images from the Olympics and famous track-and-field events and decorations like lamps made out of old running shoes. Did I mention the free beer?

In other news, I had my first therapy evaluation last Wednesday with a therapist who encouraged me to “go crazy” using my wrist, doing anything I feel capable of short of contact sports. I have taken his advice, and have since opened cans, unlocked doors (turning a key is hard with limited mobility!) and generally tried my hand (ha!) at just about everything else. He even said the 1-Mile Bay Bridge Swim in June might be a reasonable goal. Best of all, he’s a runner himself, and while we waited for my hand to warm up in a heating pad before stretching, he and I had a thoughtful discussion about the merits and perils of barefoot running. In other words, he *gets* it, which is about all you can ask for when it comes to a medical professional who’s helping you get back into fighting shape.

I have a secret. Even though I signed up for the race the day before, even though I have only been allowed to do cardio for three weeks following a forced six-week hiatus after wrist surgery, even though I promised myself I wouldn’t care about my pace until six weeks after my first run back, I had a goal time for the Silver Spring Earth Day 5K on Sunday in the back of my mind.

I wasn’t trying to beat my time from last year’s race. A 23:46 — an average of 7:38-minute miles — is a good 5K time for me, and that would’ve been setting myself up for disappointment. However, I thought I could come in under 25 minutes, even in a worst-case scenario. My legs had other plans. The last mile, a long uphill on Wayne Avenue, was simply rougher than I expected, and I ended up finishing in 25:18—roughly 8-minute miles. As in, my normal training pace for five- or six-mile routes just a couple months ago. Ugh.

Last year, I looked comfortable and strong in my Earth Day 5K race photos. This year, I looked less like a woman running a race and more like an exhausted invalid on a very serious, grim mission to deliver an iPod and a Garmin to someone across the finish line.

I spent a minute or two sitting on the curb, pouting and feeling bummed that I now had a solid, depressing metric to compare the shape I’m in now to the shape I was in a year ago. But I realized pretty quickly that I’d chosen the wrong metrics to define victory. True, I was slower than last year. But I’d discounted the fact that the ability to run at all, in a race or otherwise, represented a massive improvement over two months ago, when I was laying on the couch in a Percocet daze, unable to make it through the afternoon without a nap.

I picked myself up off the curb and caught up with my running buddies. We headed to brunch at a greasy-spoon diner, where, as one running buddy put it, we all set personal PRs for caffeine consumption in a single hour (that coffee was heavenly!). And after brunch, when I put on my fleece for the jog back home, I accomplished what is a huge victory these days: I zipped up my fleece without outside assistance! My running buddies, appreciating my own personal victory even more than I did, cheered as if I’d just broken the tape at the Boston Marathon.

In other news: I can type with both hands again! I have to take regular breaks to avoid swelling, so my blog posts will likely continue to be sporadic for at least a few more weeks. Better yet, I finally get to start formal physical therapy tomorrow, making me feel like more victories are in my near future.

I came across an interesting blog post earlier this week about how endurance athletes tend to be dedicated, hard-working employees–how “who you are outside of your work parallels who you are when you are at work,” and how “the type of determination, discipline and emotional focus that comes with training” translates to the workplace, too.

I read it at a time when I’ve been thinking a lot about how my training schedule can not only fit into my fledgling freelance-writing career, but how it can make each work day more productive by improving my endurance and focus. When I first started working from home, with only myself as a boss, I felt guilty every time I pulled myself away from my computer for a midday run. I’m shifting my mindset to not only make it OK to take a midday run break, but to time that run break so that I get a burst of energy and a sharpened focus just when my productivity drops off. In other words, I’m using a late-morning or mid-afternoon run break to stand in for a handful of dark-chocolate Hershey’s kisses for a workday pick-me-up.

It’s an idea espoused by novelist Haruki Murakami (the running, not the chocolate) in his running memoir, “What I Talk About When I Talk About Running.” Murakami writes that he took up running because he found it helped him hone the kind of focus that is essential to long-form writing: “Most of what I know about writing I’ve learned through running every day,” he writes. “These are practical, physical lessons. How much can I push myself? How much rest is appropriate—and how much is too much? How far can I take something and still keep it decent and consistent?”

Murakami says he considers his daily run a vital part of his work schedule, saying: “Running every day is a kind of lifeline for me, so I’m not going to lay off or quit just because I’m busy. If I used being busy as an excuse not to run, I’d never run again. I have only a few reasons to keep on running, and a truckload of them to quit. All I can do is keep those few reasons nicely polished.”

A forced six-week hiatus from running (and all other cardio) following wrist surgery in February has made me reassess my own reasons for running. Besides physical health, I keep coming back to the idea that I like the person I am when I’m running. I am more focused, patient and disciplined with my training than I am in any other arena of my life, and the more I run, the more I become the person I am during my daily workouts.

When I work out in the morning, I spend the day thinking that if I can run five miles while the rest of the world is asleep, I can tackle anything else the day throws at me. When I run in the middle of the day, I skirt the terrible, sluggish hour between 3 p.m. and 4 p.m., gaining a burst of energy and focus from my run rather than losing even more productivity by messing around online for that hour. I sit down at my laptop feeling refreshed. When I run at night, I process the day’s frustrations, and truly *leave* work (not easy when your office is your dining room table!). I return home ready for sleep to refresh my sore muscles.

All of that proved true on Tuesday afternoon, when I attempted my first speedwork since returning to activity post-surgery. I ran three 1-mile repeats ranging from 8-minute-mile pace to 7:30-minute-mile pace–only slightly slower than normal! I got through the last mile by repeating: “Focus. Focus. Focus,” and willed myself to keep my eyes off the clock. I returned to work full of energy—and full of the confidence of feeling like, if I could get through that, sending a round of pitches to new editors would be a piece of cake.

A few other gems from Murakami’s lovely book:

On finishing a distance race: “It was like a tight knot inside me was gradually loosening, a knot I never even realized, until then, was there.”

His opinion on stationary bikes: “Those worthless bicycle machines.” I couldn’t agree more.

How does running make you a better employee—or boss, or parent, or spouse, or friend? How do you plan your runs to best complement your life?

In other news, I’m proud to report that I’ve crossed another major threshhold in recovering from my wrist surgery: I get to ditch the splint while I’m at home, and I can start formal therapy next week! The stiffness and soreness is still pretty monumental, so I’m especially looking forward to the latter.Best of all … I get to start swimming again! Now, I just have to find a pool I can take Metro to–the wrist isn’t quite mobile enough for driving a stick-shift yet.

As runners, we are constantly rewarding our bodies for jobs well done. After long runs, we sit in muscle-soothing ice baths, and painstakingly prepare protein recovery shakes to help our muscles rebuild. After races, we wear our medals proudly, and treat ourselves to our favorite dinners to celebrate. When we are sore, we foam-roll, stretch and get massages.

But when we are injured and can’t run, we often struggle to find appropriate ways to show our bodies that same love, even though there’s no more important time to do so. It’s been almost seven weeks since my wrist surgery, and I’m just now fully realizing the importance of not just being mentally tough, but of being unusually kind to yourself during your recovery. A key component in doing that has been finding ways to love my body that don’t involve running, or swimming, or hiking. Here’s what’s helped me so far:

Chill out and accept it. I started saying almost immediately that there were worse things in the world than not being able to work out for a month. I haven’t always felt this chilled-out and nonchalant about it, but it’s true, and it helped keep my problem in perspective.

Accept your body as it is now. I wrote a whole blog post about this, but I feel like it’s worth mentioning again here. Remember that you’re doing more than biding your time until you can hit the road again. Part of this is appreciating all the little things your body can do right now. For example, cooking with one hand can be frustrating, but it is totally doable. If I were on crutches, not so much. My wrist may be out of commission, but the rest of my body lets me get out of bed, cook for myself, walk where I need to go and appreciate just about everything life has to offer.

Find ways to treat your body now. Take a bath. Get a massage. Buy fresh fruits and veggies at the farmers market. Take a walk around the block if your injury allows for a stroll, and make sure to notice how good the sun feels on your skin. Have a glass of wine with dinner without worrying that it will screw up your morning run. Or, if your injury requires pain killers that preclude a glass of wine, have a cup of tea (I special-ordered a box of Celestial Seasonings decaf chai as a treat for myself. I highly recommend doing the same, and enjoying your first cup in a nice, long bath.)

When you get to run again, listen to your body–and take it as slow as you need to. Yesterday, the sun was shining, the magnolias and dogwoods were blooming, and the air was the perfect temperature–warm in the sun and pleasantly cool in the shade, or when the breeze kicked up. Normally, I’d spend a beautiful spring day like that tackling a long run, and part of me itched to do just that. Instead, I listened to my body, which was still sore from my first week back to “regular” training (two weekday five-milers with Pacers, plus a weekend run and cross-training on the stationary bike), and Steve and I enjoyed a leisurely hike through Rock Creek Park instead.

How do you show your body love when you’re injured–or in general?

Proust had his madeleines, but for my money, there’s nothing that evokes a particular time and place in my life like music.    There are songs I play to conjure happy times, like the first up-tempo song at my wedding (Rosalita by Bruce Springsteen), or the song that was playing when I crossed the finish line of my first real distance race (Moving to New York by the Wombats). Other songs evoke such melancholy and pain, I can barely stand to listen to them (Tori Amos=high school angst, Josh Ritter=Steve’s deployments).

So it stands to reason that music can also serve as a vehicle for transition, and it’s in that spirit that I present the playlist below. For me, this week marked the transition between feeling like an invalid who is starting to resume normal activity to feeling like a normal person who is still kind of recovering from wrist surgery. Don’t get me wrong — I’m still in a splint, and I’m only just beginning range-of-motion exercises that will make my wrist functional again. But I truly feel like I’ve turned a corner, and I wanted to make a running playlist that would the transition from Percocet, casts, exhaustion and snow to good health, movement and cherry blossoms.

For the most part, these are positive, upbeat songs as appropriate for dancing as they are for running. The playlist devolves a bit toward the end, but five miles is still a long way for me — Feist is great in the beginning, but I need some Wu Tang Clan to help me get through that last mile. If you take nothing else from the five-mile playlist below, try listening to “Feeling Good” by Nina Simone on your next run. Let me know if you don’t feel somehow transformed.

Vibes and Stuff — A Tribe Called Quest

Mushaboom (Postal Service Remix) — Feist

Feeling Good — Nina Simone

Baby You’re Amazing — Josh Kelly

My Name is Jonas — Weezer

Walcott — Vampire Weekend

Get Right Back — Army Navy

Survivor — Beyonce

Dear Sergio — Streetlight Manifesto

Wonderful World — The Ramones

Gold Digger — Kanye West

Scenario — A Tribe Called Quest

M-E-T-H-O-D Man – Wu-Tang Clan

For the past week and a half, ever since I got to trade my cast for a splint, I have been going through my own personal “couch to 5K” training plan. Even after six weeks of no cardio at all following wrist surgery in February, I’ve been pleased to note that I have enough residual fitness to skip the actual couch to 5K plans — I’ve had no need to run-walk, and even my slowest, earliest jogs were faster than 10-minute-mile pace.

At the same time, it’s been a struggle to remain patient with a body that’s been working overtime on the business of healing. I thought that by this point, I would be back to typing with two hands, posting daily on this blog, training for a half-marathon on April 24, driving, and maybe even swimming to train for the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Swim. Instead, I am still navigating an awkward return to running, having Steve drive me anywhere I can’t take Metro to, and writing with the help of a speech-to-text program, with my right arm propped up on a foam block so swelling and soreness don’t set in.

Me in my "office." I've lost the cast since taking this picture, but kept the foam block and speech-to-text headset.

I want to be back to normal, like, now. The best way I have found to combat this impatient impulse is to make a conscious, constant effort to live in the moment; to focus on running while I’m running, on writing while I’m writing, and so on. For example:

During my recovery, I read What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami. The novelist took up running because he found it helped him hone the kind of focus that is essential to long-form writing. He considers his daily run part of his work schedule, in stark contrast to the guilt trips I send myself on when I take time out of my work day to run, despite getting to make my own schedule as a freelancer. Lately, I have been following Murakami’s lead, and using my daily workout as a way  to sharpen my focus and increase my energy–a side effect of any kind of exercise, at any speed.

I have printed out yet another set of motivational quotes. The most pertinent one currently: “There is more to life than increasing its speed.” (Gandhi)

I have tuned in to the beauty around me on my runs. The Washington, D.C., region is swimming in pink this week, from the cherry blossoms downtown to the equally beautiful magnolia blossoms on my block in Silver Spring. I have made a special effort to notice and appreciate them, and to remember that you can appreciate the beauty of the natural world while running 9:30-minute miles, too.

Beautiful magnolia trees in bloom on my block.

Finally, I’m officially retooling my race schedule. I don’t get to start physical therapy until after my next appointment with my wrist surgeon on April 22, eight weeks post-surgery. No swimming until then, either. I’m starting to realize this means I probably shouldn’t be planning to throw my hand into the giant, frenzied, aqua-fist-fight that is the beginning of the 1-Mile Chesapeake Bay Swim in June. Nor should I be planning to run the hard, hilly Blue Ridge Parkway Half-Marathon in April, since my 5-mile group runs with Pacers Silver Spring still feel like marathons. Instead, I’m setting my sights on a few 5Ks and 10Ks: the Earth Day 5K in Silver Spring, the ZOOMA 10K in Annapolis on June 6, and the Clifton Caboose Twilight Run 5K on June 12 suggested by the race director, Gary, who suffered a similar injury to mine last winter. But I’m not signing up for anything until I feel good and ready–if I can be patient enough to skip working out entirely for six weeks, I can certainly be patient with myself for a few more weeks now.

Finally, thanks for being patient with me, and for continuing to stop by the blog despite the infrequent updates. Your comments boost my spirits, making me feel like I have my own personal cheering section in this slow, ugly race back to wellness!

Remember the feeling of renewal that came with back-to-school shopping when you were a kid? Every new shirt (or every pair of Z. Cavaricci pants–I grew up in the ’80s, after all) carried the possibility of a new teacher, new classroom, new opportunities.

I was reminded of that feeling last week, when I started running again after six weeks of basically no cardio whatsoever while I recovered from wrist surgery.  My first 20-minute run back was exhausting but exhilarating. The next day, I hopped on the stationary bike for 45 minutes. The day after, it was running again, this time for 30 minutes. I’ve alternated between the two ever since, and I think I’m finally getting over the initial shock of how sore my legs were after so little activity.

What I haven’t gotten over: The sense that I am starting anew. Sure, it stinks feeling exhausted after 20 minutes of easy running when, just months before, exhaustion came after running 20 miles. My endurance feels pretty much gone. But you know what else is gone? The hip pain that had hampered me pre-wrist-break. This week, I’m finding motivation in the fact that I’m getting a fresh start, and from the “back to school” goodies helping to celebrate that novelty:

* Ron at Punk Rock Tri Guy sent me this awesome hat, which is made of sweat-wicking material and is emblazoned with a logo that’s sure to help me channel my inner punk rocker before races or speed workouts:

* A brand-new training log, courtesy of Ken (a.k.a., @boulderrunner). After a brief stint on dailymile.com, I realized I really prefer to log my daily workouts in an actual training log. He had an extra one and sent it my way. Scrawling my first week  worth of workouts in it gave me such a sense of accomplishment!

* A “new to me” toy: the Garmin Forerunner 305 I received for Christmas, but barely got to enjoy before I broke my wrist. I brought it on my easy 30-minute jog on Saturday to get an idea of my baseline fitness level, preparing to be horrified at my lack of speed. The verdict: 3.22 miles at 9:18-minute-mile pace. As I finished the run, my glee upon seeing these not-so-bad stats was compounded by my iPod skipping to the perfect song for my current situation, “Get Right Back” by Army Navy. The cover song, which is peppy and fun even without the message, left me feeling like getting right back to where I started from wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

What’s motivating you this week?

My wonderful, glorious, exhausting first run back last night almost didn’t happen. Here’s how it went down at the doctor yesterday at my one-month post-surgery checkup:

Doctor, casually, after briefly examining my wrist:  I think we’ll probably put you in a cast for another two weeks.

Me: ((Weeps silently))

Doctor: So I’ll see you in two … ((notices silent, pathetic weeping)) Aww. C’mon. ((Uncomfortable silence as I continue weeping)). You’re the type of patient I want in bubble wrap. For active-duty patients like you, I really think that’s the best route.

Me: I’m not active-duty! I’m a freelance writer! I sit at a computer all day — I’m very still, really!

Doctor: But you’re probably more active than most of my active-duty patients.

Me: ((Sullen silence))

Doctor, after giving me a long, hard Look: Do you promise you’ll wear your splint 24 hours a day?

Me, nodding vigorously, possibly bouncing up and down in exam chair: I’ll be so good! Tell me what not to do, and I won’t do it! I promise! I promise!

Hellooo, splint!

I still don’t get to start occupational therapy until after my next appointment in a month. Also, when I asked if I could drive my manual-transmission car again, the nurse looked at me like I had asked if I could resume bench presses. But as my doctor, a runner herself, and I yapped about fall marathons yesterday afternoon as the technician made the breathable splint that would allow me to run again, I had a hard time feeling too disappointed.

The run itself later that day was glorious. I made the mistake of mentioning to my doctor that I’d planned to run an easy 30 minutes. She gave me another Look, and suggested 15 minutes might be more appropriate for the first day. Every one of those 15 minutes (okay, fine, 20 minutes) felt amazing — tiring in the best way possible, and familiar in a way that made me feel like I was coming home to myself. My quads ached on the hills, and I was more out of breath than I’d like to admit, but that was OK — I’ve been working on cultivating an attitude of acceptance of the way things are right now rather than only focusing on future goals, so I resolved not to think about pace, but instead to appreciate how good it felt to simply move. Plus, running, for any distance, at any speed, made me feel alive again.

Beaming after my first run back with my new splint.

Later that night, my wrist would feel swollen enough that I held the “Statue of Liberty” position for the entirety of LOST. But when I first walked back in the door, chilled from a brisk March wind and out of breath from the exertion, I only felt joy.

Today, I’ll take a quick spin on the stationary bike. The FIRST training program had been working well for me before my wrist surgery, so I figure there’s no reason to abandon it now. I’m actually looking forward to the bike ride, which I usually see as a necessary cross-training evil. And I’m looking forward to my run tomorrow — my first “real” run back.

I started swimming competitively when I was seven. I learned to ski and started doing gymnastics that same year, and from that point on, I don’t think I’ve gone more than a week without doing some sort of physical activity. This means that, for better or worse, my understanding of my body is inextricably tied to the belief that a normal day includes a vigorous workout of some sort.

As you can imagine, this is mostly a positive thing. I’ve spent my life seeking out steeper slopes, longer races, rougher waters, and other ways to challenge myself and broaden my idea of what I’m capable of. I’ve gotten to take exceptionally good health for granted, and I’ve used exercise-induced endorphins to boost my spirits through rough times.

Here’s the downside, or at least a strange side effect: My concept of how I use my body is so tied up in the idea that I can and should do some sort of physical activity every day, I somehow got to the point where I believe that’s the body’s most important purpose. You know this feeling: it’s the part of you that wants to wrap your legs in bubble wrap in the weeks leading up to a marathon, eschewing all other activities (camping, backpacking, having wine with dinner) to make sure your body is ready for that all-important race day. It’s the part of you that feels fat and lazy during a taper, even though you know you’re still doing more exercise than the general population.

I found tips on how to change that thinking in a surprising place: a blog post about body image. It calls for accepting the way things are now–something I do rather infrequently, it turns out. Think about it: How often do you pause to appreciate where you are right now before striving for a better marathon time, a faster tempo run, a harder cross-training workout? Here are some of the takeaways I’m planning to practice this week:

Self-acceptance means acknowledging where you are now, and not repeating the mantra “I’ll like my body when…” For me, that’s “when I can be active again.” Why not appreciate my body now, rather than abiding an overriding feeling that I’ll suffer through the next few weeks until I can next go for a run?

Think of all the amazing things your body can do. Gary, the race director and marathon runner who’s recovering from almost the same wrist injury I am, put it this way: “This month off was different from just slacking for a month. My body has probably been putting a lot of energy into healing. I had surgery just a little more than two weeks ago. And all these crazy drugs I’m not used to…” As much as I feel like a lazy slob for being on the couch for a month, my body is actually probably pretty worn out from doing things like healing wounds, building bone and getting used to the fact that there’s a piece of titanium in my wrist now. And yes, the crazy drugs…

Ask yourself: What are some of the feel-good things I can do now for my body? By nurturing your body as it is now, you can begin to feel comfortable with yourself. Now this one, I’m not having such a problem with. Here are some of the ways I nurtured my body over the past few days:

By enjoying an awesome Italian dinner before seeing Avenue Q on an impromptu trip to New York …

By soaking in the spring sunshine on a walk across the Brooklyn Bridge …

And by relaxing in Rock Creek Park with Steve when we returned home. We packed a picnic lunch (mine: a sandwich with multigrain bread, cheddar cheese, and apple slices and fig jam procured from the Silver Spring Farmers Market on Saturday), and spent hours lazing by the creek and reading (my book: the excellent What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami).

I can’t help but think that this perspective will help me once I start running again — which could happen as soon as tomorrow, depending on how my doctor appointment goes. Wish me luck!