i know. i don't get it either. i do not understand why, after a near-decade of sedentary bliss, i am suddenly drawn to engage in a sport i have here-to-fore never evinced so much as an iota of interest in.
on the other hand, maybe i do.
the sport seems to require a certain focus, a certain drive... a certain intensity. and if there's one thing i have learned to understand that i am ... is intense.
Beloved is equally intense. it's undeniably part of the attraction and the glue that holds us together, even through hells like last week. Beloved studies chinese with dogged determinedness, driven by no need other than his own enjoyment and edification.
up until 8 years ago, i ran seven and a half miles five days a week, and worked out at a gym with a trainer for three hours every week. when i look back, i realize that the physical rigor somehow enabled me to endure the hell of my divorce. running all those miles - day after day - somehow kept me sane.
it was right around the time that the pressure finally eased, with my body feeling overtrained and tired, i stopped. over the years, i've dabbled - gone to gyms and trainers and classes and even run a few miles now and again. but nothing's stuck.
maybe it's too soon to think that this will. it feels good though... my body is pleasantly stretched in that gently achey way that tells you your muscles have earned their rest.
but there's another reason, a reason that roils under my skin. i can only write what i know, and marsia knows more things than i do. the bruises on my knuckles are already fading.
and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.
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