A few weeks ago, I mentioned seeing a runner go past my window, remarking on it because it was only ten degrees Fahrenheit and he was running in shorts. I thought him amazingly and enviably dedicated, knowing that he didn’t just decide to go running in the snow that morning, but that he had a pattern of running behind him stretching months, if not years–a slow build up in skills and determination, of will and dedication, of understanding of his own limits and how he can push through them.
A reader, (I’m sorry, I don’t remember which one of you) commented that metaphorically, I ran in shorts as well, which I thought humbling and an honor. I don’t think I quite run in shorts in the snow, but maybe with a pair of long johns and a face mask. -laugh-
Well . . . this week I’m going to try, making a sprint to the finish line of this rough draft, using every ounce of will I’ve got. I have 80 to 100 pages to write to see the end, and I want them done by Tuesday. (no working on the weekend) It’s going to be a hard, difficult sprint, but by golly, I’m going to try.
Wish me luck. I’m running in shorts this week. In the snow. And it’s getting cold . . .