This is what my legs look like. They're a robust blend of Okinawan and German stock. They're the descendants of pioneer ladies and laboring immigrants. I owe a great deal to these weighty stems. They carry me across finish lines, lead me through the mountains of the Pacific Northwest, wander the streets of India, pedal across the United States, and support me every day as I stand in front of a public school classroom. They're good legs!
Lately, these good legs have been the unfortunate recipients of neglect. As another year of teaching 8th grade settles over me, running is the first thing to get pushed out of my schedule. Intellectually I know the very best thing after a long, wretched day at school is a run outside in the wooded park near my house. Unfortunately, I am an intellectual void at the end of these types of days, and instead of thinking with my head, I feel with my stomach.
The struggle to choose the long-term joy of healthy over the immediacy and comfort of unhealthy is a specter lingering at my side. There are stretches of time where it floats on the periphery of my life, a mostly-forgotten ghost. But it never fails to return, not content to merely haunt, but manifest itself in the form of a tireless banshee.
I'm going to run tomorrow (even though I really don't want to, and there's an epic storm forecast for the morning, and my shoes are not that good, and I haven't run in over 4 weeks).
It's time to shush the banshee.
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