Jogging in Seattle

I went running today. It was some of the first real exercise I’ve gotten in Seattle, aside from a few long walks.

And it hurt, more than jogging should hurt a former NCAA athlete, and in ways that jogging shouldn’t hurt someone who’s responsible. My lower back throbbed and hobbled me from sleeping half-fetal to fit under the blanket; my lungs were pressed from the inside by the cold air I was breathing; after less than a mile, my legs had the jello instability that I associated with East European conditioning coaches; I had a mohawk of headache. I’ve felt powerless, but it’s been a while since I’ve felt weak.

I left thinking that I would go to Fremont and swing back from the north. I got a mile before stopping abruptly, almost unwillingly, then totally. I spent five minutes wondering whether the pain in my ears was normal. I jogged some of the way back, walked like a zombie, then jogged for the last two minutes.

I took a shower. Cold, sweaty, frustrated that I stopped, glad that I went in the first place, unsure whether or when I would see the fruits of my labors. And now it’s 4 in the afternoon, and in the past four hours I’ve outlined a blog post, jogged a mile, written a blog post, and gotten my UCSD Fencing shirt a very little bit sweaty.

It’s a pretty good analogy for my time in Seattle so far.