Every weekday morning when it isn't raining or threatening to rain, I go running. Some days I really don't want to go. Other days, like this morning, I feel pumped and ready. I love running on a cold morning. Somehow, the chill and the wind in my face and on whatever of my skin is exposed make me feel exhilarated. The first few yards are the hardest, though. It is when I most feel like turning back and going inside. Once I get to the top of the first significant (though not really that steep) hill and start going downhill, I blow my nose with some tissue I keep in my sleeve; I always have to blow my nose when I exercise. I keep a moderately slow pace throughout my run, until I get towards the end. When I have five or ten meters left, I try to run as if there were a Nazgul behind me. As I get to the sign that marks two miles, I try to give a leap like Frodo leaping onto the Buckleberry Ferry. Usually it's just kind of a breathless, gaspy hop, though. Then I cool down by jogging a few paces, and then walking briskly to the house. I do some knee lifts and calf raises on my doorstep before I go inside. That's basically it. I really can't think of much else to blog about. Perhaps there will be more of substance tomorrow.