I've spent the last 30 days or so completely modifying the biomechanics of my running. light shoes, light steps, light feet, an altered landing, an altered posture. it's reached that point where I've deconstructed my running but my body hasn't yet learned the new patterns by heart. every run feels like I have no idea how to run.
my feet hurt.
cardiovascularly -- a word I think I just made up -- I've reached a place where my runs feel easy, but my legs are slow to catch up. the biomechanical reorganizing doesn't help. this is the danger zone, where the engine is stronger than the chassis; where I want faster faster faster but the infrastructure is not in place.
sometimes I need reminding: there is time.
at work there is one last push before the season ends: a score built from scratch for the last opera. in the ground, the crocuses emerge. it's been grey again. I dream of loving reunions with old friends. I do the dishes in a timely way. my hair grows long. the horse's hair falls out all over everything. slowly, the evenings take longer to fade.
on valentine's day mike surprised me by flying across the country to give me a kiss. any boyfriends I've had before this have been rendered irrelevant.