This morning is my initial physical therapy session after I broke my arm last month. The therapist asks me what I'd like to be able to do. "Well, I wish I could swim again," I begin. "And maybe play the piano. And the violin, yeah, I'd like to be able to do that too!" She dutifully types into her computer, but I can't see what she's writing—probably "Patient is Nuts!" I show her a small bump that I've noticed on my biceps. "That small lump is your biceps!" she informs me.
A few hours later I'm home with a set of stretching exercises to work on for the next fortnight. Friend CM Manlandro has offered to run with me today; she arrives and changes into running gear while I'm measuring out flour into the bread machine. Wednesday afternoon weather is brisk and she's wearing spiffy new tights, her first time running with covered legs. We canter along my local loop to Forest Glen, through the Seminary, to Rock Creek Trail. I recount historical tidbits about the neighborhood as we pass various landmarks. "Don't fall down!" is my refrain, said aloud to CM but more properly addressed to myself.
CM tells me that she has never gone faster than 8:10 for the mile, so when we reach RCT marker 2.25 I tell her, "Let's go!" Downstream we blitz, panting and dodging dog-walkers. I call out our time at every quarter, and at each we're a few seconds better than 8 minute pace. After a final sprint we cross the 1.25 line at the Rays Meadow ballfields together in 7:48.46 by my watch, a new Personal Record for CM by more than 20 seconds—congratulations! A cooldown walk and slow-jog hill climb brings us to the CCT, whence we trot back to my home, noting oak leaf prints on the sidewalks.
^z - 2008-11-30