The Part After the Part

Eight-fourteen AM. Done.

I have been loosely, quietly building toward this for a while, the one-block run in March, the second block, the third, the full route back in September. None of that felt like training exactly. It felt more like the route deciding to let me back in on its own schedule. But somewhere between September and now I looked at a community board posting for a local 5K and thought: that's in October. I could do that. I wrote it in the draft folder and didn't touch it again for eleven days, which is approximately how I make all my decisions.

The race itself was fine. It was cold enough that I was glad I'd worn the long sleeves. The first kilometer I felt too fast and the next two I felt too slow and then I stopped doing math and just ran. The finish line appeared before I expected it, which is either good pacing or proof that my sense of distance is completely unreliable. I stood on the pavement on the other side of it for a long moment doing nothing in particular.

Still standing. That counts.

Afterward I sat on the step outside the rec center with a paper cup of water and thought about the prints still leaning against the kitchen wall in October light, and Gerald, and whether I wanted eggs or toast, and nothing significant at all. Which is maybe the whole point of finishing something, you get to think about toast.

The paper cup era.

The gold cross caught the sun for a second and I noticed it and then I walked home.