Hello, running, my old friend, I've come to jog with you again

For many years, I was a runner.

Not a runner who would win road races or anything, but depending on the size of the race, for a few years there I was a decent bet to walk away with a third-place age group medal or something similar.

Then I stopped running, in part to train for a 250-mile walk that, as it turns out, isn't going to happen.

And now, only very recently, I've dipped my toe back into the running pool.

The reason is simple, and it has almost nothing to do with the health benefits of the activity: I just miss the act of running.

That is to say, I miss the feeling of going fast and grinding out miles and just plain moving at a pace at which I'm not likely to move the rest of the day.

As much walking as I've done over the years, I don't enjoy it the way I enjoy running.

So I've started getting back into running.

The problem, as you may have gathered from yesterday's post, is that while I'm not quite starting at zero, I'm still really, really out of running shape.

I have weight to lose, lung capacity to rebuild, and the ever-present specter of a pulled calf or hamstring muscle to deal with. So I'm starting v-e-r-r-r-r-r-y slowly.

Father Time being undefeated and all, there is a limit to what I can do in terms of weekly mileage and pace, but I know I have a lot of room to grow still.

At age 51, I am just not yet ready to permanently hang up the running shoes.

Still, keep that Ben Gay nearby for me, if you would. You know, just in case.