I just logged my run from this morning on the Nike Running website. At first I was like, “Hey my last run was on the 9th. That’s not too bad!” But then I realized my last run was on JUNE 9TH. =\

I’ve taken over a month off from running! In that period I’ve lost I think like 10 pounds. It’s from not eating. And smoking. I used to think I smoked about five to ten cigarettes a day. I might have, then. Now I’m smoking about a pack? Maybe. Definitely between ten and twenty cigarettes a day. So that’s not good.

I woke up this morning feeling pretty good. I was pretty sick yesterday—a sinus/headache thing. Sleeping in the air conditioning makes me kind of sick. So Hektor crawled onto the bed this morning and woke me up. I took him outside. It was sunny but cool: A perfect day for a run. So I strapped on my sneakers, put my iPhone in an old case, and took off. I went north on 12th (I live in Queens) until I got to Astoria Park, and then I ran east to the street past 21st, and then back south until I got to three miles. At first I thought, “Gee. This feels pretty good. Who says you can’t smoke/take off a month?” You know who says that? My heart says that. By mile 2 (TWO!!!) I was kind of dying. I planned on running about three miles, but by miles 2.66, running three miles felt as insurmountable as winning a ground war against Russia. I felt happy to get out alive.

Funny thing is, I felt pretty great all day. (Except for being sick—I’m still sick.) I took the dog for a walk directly after my run. And then now I’ve been sitting in various chairs at tables all day “working.” I don’t feel sore. I’ve smoked about ten cigarettes today. But I think I can try to run four miles on Tuesday morning. I’ll let my knees rest tomorrow. Maybe I’ll quit smoking and try to get my mile time to around seven minutes. Maybe I’ll be president next week.