The winter doldrums are starting to creep in. It’s not that I’m unmotivated—if anything, I’ve been steady—but something feels a little off. My legs don’t feel quite right, yet I can’t point to any real reason they should be tired. My mileage is lower, sure, but I’ve still run 10 out of the last 11 days. Maybe it’s just a matter of new muscle groups waking up and adjusting to treadmill running.
This past week, I’ve logged five runs indoors. The transition hasn’t been bad, all things considered. My shorter efforts have been around 3.4 miles in 30 minutes, and my longest so far stretched to 5 miles in 44 minutes. The hardest part, always, is getting started—the mental push to step onto the belt and begin. The first mile or two feel awkward, like my body is remembering how to move. But once I settle in, the rhythm takes over, and I feel like I could run forever.
Still, I need to find a better routine. Getting on the treadmill earlier would help—less scrolling, less hesitation, maybe a few extra minutes of sleep sacrificed for consistency. The morning always offers a choice: comfort or progress.
Over the weekend, I did manage to escape the hamster wheel and run outside with Maya. We logged 3.11 miles on Saturday at a 7:58 pace and 2.21 miles on Sunday at 7:34. Those runs are our usual compromise—short for me, long for her; slow for her, fast for me. But the pace doesn’t matter. Running with my daughter is worth more than any number in the log.
Halloween, of course, has unleashed a new wave of sugar cravings. The house is full of candy, and the holidays are right around the corner—a dangerous combination. I’m holding steady around 180 pounds, but I’d like to drop another ten. For now, I’ll count it as a small victory if I can simply hold the line through winter.
Maybe that’s what this season is really about—holding steady when everything slows down, trusting that the rhythm will return when the days start to grow longer again.
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