Sometime in the last three months, I picked up an addiction. To running.
After spending the last couple years just picking at it, enjoying the freedom of running off the day, picking up and going and just being away from it all, going at my own pace, whereever I chose, sometime over the last few months, it became much more.
Perhaps it was running in the rain, or the first time I dragged my ass out of bed early in the morning to pound out 5k before work. It might have had a bit to do with the extra 10 pounds I put on over the last year, due to my own laziness and then my ankle (I’ve since taken 7 of the pounds off), but actually I like to think that didn’t have as much to do with it.
But somewhere between the summer and now, something clicked in my head and now it seems perfectly normal to be jumping over snow banks, running in short strides as not to fall in my old soccer track pants, three shirts, bandaged nipples, gunk all over my upper thighs and a runny nose.
I’ve done 14k twice now, which is my peak so far. However, I’m signed to run a half-marathon in February. All I want to do is run farther and I couldn’t be happier.
On Monday, this happened.
Thinking outside of the standard feelings of tragedy and also the exploitive nature of the news coverage (the cover of Tuesday’s Metro was disgusting), I have this sense of closeness. I don’t know her, but it’s easy to see myself in her shoes.
Here’s a woman, in her twenties, just popping out of the office or something along those lines for a coffee. And now she’s gone. A life snuffed out. It’s a grim realization of the fragility of life. There one moment and gone the next.
The whole thing has been a regular topic at the office the past two days and you can see by the way people are acting during their daily routine on Spring Garden that there are others thinking of it too. I’ve never seen the traffic on the street be so accommodating and almost fearful of pedestrians.
What has been stuck in my mind is this: on Monday morning, this woman woke up, maybe a little tired from one of those case of the Mondays. It was a normal day until she popped out for coffee. Just a normal day, like any of the thousands of us go through everyday.
No one promised us tomorrow and that’s how it goes. Can you imagine leaving for work for the day and never coming back to your apartment, back to your life? What do you leave behind? Who do you leave behind?
And so it goes. On Tuesday, this happened. It’s on my route that I normally run.
So definitely there was the intention to make some content, perhaps about the crazy long distances I’ve been running lately or the upcoming NHL All-Star game, or the US or Canadian political scene, or maybe a late comment on Remembrance Day, or about this crazy amazing book I’m reading or another amazing book I just finished reading or one of the other 61 blog fragments I have saved behind the scenes.
Naturally, none of that happened. I’ve been trying to upgrade my site from WordPress 2.0 to 2.6, as a preamble to setting up the Tumblr blog I talked about previously. After not having much luck with the automatic upgrade plugin due to some settings with my host, I tried to do it manually. Unfortunately, hit another snag with the host and after getting up to 2.6, I couldn’t talk to my database and had to come back down to 2.0 (albeit updating to 2.0.11, the most up to date version).
So that took some time and thus, here I am.
I normally take the stairs in my apartment building. I live on the 8th floor but it’s no big deal.
Coming home from work today, I walked up the stairs, entered my floor, walked to my apartment, put my key in the door and turned. And turned. And turned.
Looking up, a mischievous 7 laughed back at my pitiful attempts to unlock the apartment directly below my own.
So I went back to the stairs, up another floor and unsurprisingly, my key worked in the door for MY apartment.
I hope no one was in the apartment I tried to break into. It would have given them a bit of a jolt no doubt.
I think I need to take a nap or something.