The Kiss

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  “Ryabovitch pulled the bed-clothes over his head, curled himself up in bed, and tried to gather together the floating images in his mind and to combine them into one whole. But nothing came of it. He soon fell asleep, and his last thought was that someone had caressed him and made him happy—that something extraordinary, foolish, but joyful and delightful, had come into his life. The thought did not leave him even in his sleep. When he woke up the sensations of oil on his neck and the chill of peppermint about his lips had gone, but joy flooded his heart just as the day before.” The Kiss By Anton Chekhov (1860–1904)

Run if you can, walk if you have to, crawl if you must.

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Ok, I've been sick since Christmas and have come to a grinding halt with all things fitness. I'm getting better though. Slowly. I just want to run again. And lift. I miss running though.


I miss doing things so intense that it becomes spiritual. If you've not exerted yourself that much, then you won't understand--but it happens. 

So when I get better, I'm starting again from zero. Kind of have to because my strength is gone. But I'll get it back. 



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