We're moving on the first of August.  We've been here for several years now, and I'm a little bummed about moving away from my familiar running routes.  It seems a little ridiculous to miss them, but I think I will.

One good thing about being unemployed is that I was the one who had time to scout out a new pad.  We'll be renting a nice little house, and it looks like an ideal place to run.  Is it silly that this was one of my major criteria?  

We won't be living out in the country anymore, so I'm not going to run past cows (or elephants) on my new routes.  I suppose I'll get used to it.

This morning I startled a herd of deer.   They bounded away from me, although I consider myself an implausible threat.  It would be nice to think of myself as running with the deer in some sort of kinship, but my imagination just won't stretch that far as I labor uphill.  Still, it was a pretty sight, watching the deer bound off into a misty field.  

I'm going to miss them.

I wake up to the steady patter of raindrops on my roof.

Oh no!  Today's my first real run on the Couch to 5K plan.  I'm supposed to run 20 minutes straight.  I've been looking forward to this, and I Really. Hate. Rain.

I get up and consult the Internet to assess my chances for a break from the rain.  It looks like it might slack off briefly around noon.

That gives me time to eat this nice big breakfast, watch my political shows, and do some grading.

I leave the house dressed as if it were 20 degrees out rather than 45.  I dutifully start walking for five minutes, but then spot my neighbors.  This is a problem.  I am wearing my running tights.  I love them, but nothing says "I'm too slow for my pants" like being spotted walking along in running tights.  I pick up my pace until I'm safely past my neighbors.

Hey look, deer!  They look more wet and miserable than I am, and faster too.  Really, you don't have to run away from me.  I run like a laboring freight train, and you run like... deer.

My stomach reminds me that only some kind of an idiot would eat a big breakfast before a run.  My lungs remind me that picking my hilliest route for this run wasn't so bright, either.  I remind my body that I have run a half marathon, dammit, so running for 20 minutes shouldn't be a big freaking deal.  My body suggests that perhaps I should have been more faithful about swimming laps.  I begin to wonder if other people's bodies talk to them during their runs.

My last two tenths of a mile, I'm running up this completely ridiculous hill.  I can't drop into a walk with only two minutes left in my run, but I really want to.  Surely I could have planned this better.

I count down the last few seconds and lurch to a stop.  My Garmin says that I ran 2.09 miles in 20:02.  That's a 9:35 pace.  Yay!  

I can't wait until my next run.