So after my weekend fling on the track, I come back to Treadmill No. 8. We share a moment of uncomfortable silence, but then settle in to our routine as if nothing ever happened.
The hour goes by quickly with no pain, other than the occasional flashback to what might have been. I love the track. But the treadmill is my friend.
Later in the afternoon, Mo asks how my run was. I tell her it was great.
She points out that I’m limping badly on my right leg and I make a little “Ow” sound every time I take a step.
Well, sure, I reply. But it didn’t hurt while I was running. That’s all that matters.
Sometimes Mo doesn’t understand running …