Day one of a run streak attempt.
I actually don’t even have a goal number in mind as I start this. I guess I was more focussed on starting on the first day of the month in order to help me really count upwards to this unknown imaginary super high number.
Maybe I’m just sick of counting to a goal number. I participated in Camp NaNoWriMo for the summer. I had a great word goal, one that would top off the draft of my current WIP that’s been just hanging on and hanging on for months, never finishing, never quite filling in. Turns out that, after I locked in the #, I raced towards the end of the month only to find that the estimate I gave myself for Mystery Project’s End was a good 7,000+ words too many! Whoops.
So. I got my WIP locked in. Woot woot!
But I failed NaNo. Again.
But enough about that, I’m talking about running today. And I’m guessing the real reason for my not putting a 30 day, 50 day, 100 day goal out there in front of me is because of the risks of a limit. What if I hit my X Day streak goal and simply take a day off to reward myself? That one day (knowing me and my on again off again running history) would become two, become three, become four plus a pint of custard . . . Conversely, what if I set a goal I consider reasonable (and much more in keeping with my NaNo comparison) and fail. What if I (as I tend to do after about 2 weeks of casual running) get injured? Not Injured injured, of course. But the sore knee, shoe-rubbing-a-hot-spot on the heel, gosh gee my heart doesn’t Feel like running today because of a weather front coming through and changing the pressure in the air type of thing that kills a streak stone dead. What if I start a streak and stop the streak and want to start again? And then don’t.
What if . . . what if . . . what if . . . like this blog, I find other things to do, find the sound of my own voice, my shoes slapping against the pavement mile after mile, day after day, week after week, starts to grate on my nerves. What if, like most of what I say when I am not writing pure fictional prose, I go nowhere, stuck on a treadmill, just pumping out the miles “doing it just to do it”?
Or. I could go running. Like I did today.
And it felt goooood.
See you tomorrow, sweaty shoes, see you tomorrow.