Up at 4 after a lousy night's sleep. Did the idea of running for the first time in more than a year keep me up? I consoled myself by listening to Sarah Bakewell's How to Live, her book on Montaigne, for three hours. This is the third time through that book; it's the sort of writing you want to digest several times, the way a cow repeatedly enjoys the same meal. I told myself I didn't have insomnia, I was ruminating.
After a 40-minute Insanity Cardio Core & Balance workout, I put on my Minimus shoes and headlamp and went outside into the rain. 43 degrees, pitch dark. The brooks were whooshing with snowmelt, the woodcocks were doing their peent-peent mating cries, and the east wind smelled like the ocean.
I ran up our meadow, a quarter mile from house to woods, trying to keep my knees from knocking and getting my turnover up to three or four beats per second. I felt actually kind of good. My body, I mean.
The rest of me felt like a million bucks. Man, it's good to be outside.