I have bad feet.
And I like to run.
The two things don't always go together, but I've been learning a lot about endurance in both life and on the road.
On Saturday a friend and I ran at our favorite spot along the San Diego Coastline and it went something like this:
A wet sea air chilled our hands for the first 10 minutes but was soon forgotten as the sun climbed up and tickled the surf with thousands of tiny dancing diamonds. Cutting through the campground we ate breakfast with our noses; campfires teased us with roasting coffee and bacon. It was Halloween so each camp sight shared their toothless, grinning pumpkins as we, with short breaths, chatted about everything and anything.
Turning around at mile 4.25 and sipping on electrolytes we did the reverse trip, only going uphill wasn't so easy this time. Smile at the old surfers with their coffees, assessing the days ride. One more mile of hard breath and we were in the ocean up to our waists. Forget about wet shorts, this is San Diego. Cold salt water is nature's ice pack and after 8.5 miles I could sure attest that God is also a physician. Better and faster was the healing than any pill or massage I've ever had on my aching feet.
I'm ready for 10 miles this Saturday.