Despite it being ridiculously hot today, I decided to go out and run when I got home from school at 3:00. That's partly because I was bored, and partly because my coworkers complain that my pasty whiteness blinds them. I ended up running about 2.5 miles at about a 8.5-minute mile pace. Even if you're not impressed with that, I am.

I need to thank a few of you for making this possible. First, Gwen Stefani, Avril Lavigne and John Denver, for singing to me while I ran. But most importantly, Steve Jobs for letting them come with me.

Thank you.

Oh, and Bob was right; cold showers are amazing!

I realized this last week that I am no longer able to run 26.2 miles. Or even 1. So I decided to start running again. I set a goal of running everyday over spring break.

Pain. Lots and lots of pain.

You see, other than an "attempt" at running with Julie about two years ago, I haven't run any significant distance in six years. And last Tuesday I decided that I was able to run about two miles with no stretching or warm up.

Wrong.

I got up at 7 and ran for a little over a mile, then tripped on a raised section of the sidewalk, scraped my knee and hands, and my iPod went sliding about eight feet out into the street. The iPod was fine, and I was able to convince myself that my bleeding knee was enough reason to walk for a while. After a few hundred yards I was finally able to talk myself into running again and I did so until about half-way up the hill near my parents' house. At that point I considered laying down on the sidewalk to die. But something inside me pushed me forward. Maybe it was my desire to finish what I had started. Maybe it was my iron-strong will to persevere. Or maybe it was that it was 45 degrees outside and I wanted to go home and die on a soft, warm couch. Probably the soft, warm couch thing.

So I walked the last quarter mile home and went in wheezing, found the couch and prepared to go to a much happier place. You know, with the big puffy clouds, bright lights, and all my old friends. No, not Seattle; death. I fell asleep for about four hours and woke up to a world where everything hurts.

Both my legs were horrendously sore, and it was tremendously hard to walk without crying. But I did it. For about twenty-seconds. Even my toes were sore. Not like a blistery soreness; like a muscly soreness. I am the epitome of pitifulness.

It got a little better throughout the day, and my dad reassured me that when I ran the next morning, I would feel a lot better, cause it would stretch out my muscles. I'll never forgive him for that lie.

The next day, after running a slightly shorter distance with less hills, it was much worse. Toe-cramps were back, and my thighs and shins were on fire. Seriously on fire! Ok, not on fire. I also spent this last week having to walk up and down a hill repeatedly to place, adjust, view, change my mind, replace, readjust, and review lights for my church's Easter production. I wouldn't say that hill really helped with the soreness as much as it did make it much, much worse. The weeping really didn't help make me look tough either.

I did however decide to keep going and run a third day. Afterwards I had a doctor appointment and I asked her about the wheezing I had experienced the first few days. I found it quite humorous how she avoided the term, "out of shape." She instead used terms like, "exercise-induced asthma," and, "low lung capacity."

Fortunately I did feel much better and less sore after the fourth day of running. I can now run almost a hundred yards without nearly passing out. Baby steps, everyone. Baby steps.