Well, I do.

Not very well. Or very fast.

Actually, I have really bad form and my head bobs all over the place. But I do run. I even ran a half marathon once. No, really, I did. Here’s proof:

For those of you wondering, my shirt reads: failure is always an option. It made the people in the front of the pack laugh as they passed me when I was still miles from the turn around point. They probably wouldn’t have thought it was so funny had they finished fourth to last. Not that I finished fourth to last. No, of course not. Not me. Nope.

Anyway, after running the half marathon last April I was completely burnt out. I’d spent the better part of a year training for it and the simple fact of the matter was: I was sick of running. Aside from giving my dog an outlet for his unearthly amount of energy and giving my calves some pretty amazing muscle tone – I wasn’t getting much out of it. So I knocked back the miles considerably, ran a local 5K some time in May, and then, eventually, took a little running hiatus.

Little as in two months of absolutely no running.

After running a mile the other day for the first time in two months I can safely tell you that taking time off was a terrifically horrible idea. Everything hurts. It’s like I was running for the first time all over again. It looks like I’m going to have a long road ahead of me.

One of the good things about running, though, is that it gives you time to think. There’s not much else for you to do. I mean, aside from looking at your watch every ten seconds to figure out when you finally got to stop. Who knows, maybe I’ll have some of the biggest writing breakthroughs of my career while running. That is, if I don’t die first.