I have had a week of fantastic runs. Wednesday I ran in the rain. At first it was just a light drizzle, then about half-way through the downpour began. I had no choice but to keep going as I run a loop and was half an hour from home. I felt like a child again, I splashed in puddles and ran with a huge smile on my face as water dripped from my hair, my eyes, and my chin. When I got home I thoroughly resembled a drowned rat but I didn't care, I was cold, soaked, and exhilarated.
On Thursday I got home from work at about 5, exhausted, my feet hurt, my back hurt, I wasn't sure if I could push through the hour long run I wanted to complete. At about 6:30 I headed out, new playlist in hand, and went for it. I started fast and huffed and puffed through the first ten minutes until my body got used to the pace. Somewhere along the way I got lost in the running. I didn't think about where I was going or what time it was or how much time I had left, I just ran, my feet moving beneath me, hitting the pavement caught in a perfect runner's high.
I took Friday off. I've pushed my run time from 45 minutes to an hour and my legs felt exhausted. I figured it was best to give my muscles a rest. I sat at home after work feeling the muscles in my legs, looking at how much straighter the line of my leg is, where it used to bulge weirdly near my knee, feeling the slight tiredness in my legs from the week of hard runs.
Later that day I pulled on my current/elliot skinny jeans, a black tank top gifted to me from my boyfriend's step mom, and pulled out an old pair of boots and a loose knit sweater I haven't worn in years that now finally fits the way it was supposed to (loose, casually draped), and went to dinner with the boy. Looking at myself in the mirror before leaving I critically considered whether or not I was pulling off the jeans tucked into mid-calf high boots look that I have coveted on so many others, and I did. I really, really did.