Like a rusty hinge that won't turn. Getting out of bed today and moving about, I'm feeling one hundred and three years old.
It could be that my body misses sleeping on a hammock.
Or it might be residual stiffness from Friday's cramped flight back from Colombia.
Though my having smacked into a tree on Saturday while sledding might have something to do with it.
Yesterday's race could also have contributed. I ran the Al Gordon in Prospect Park and beat my previous NYRR record. I'm still far behind my Turkey Trot pace, but since I went in wondering if I'd be able to survive it, I'm counting it.
And even thought I'm stiff, I wouldn't change a thing about last weekend.
It's all about the little victories.
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