Torrefaction

I guess I quit running right around the time we started the domestic adoption process--January or Feb of this year.  I wasn't running any kind of impressive distance--a mile was my record, and I had to take walking breaks.  Usually I was running a half mile with a couple of walk breaks.  Still, better than nothing.  But I was depressed about the neverending quest for a baby and just didn't feel like working toward another effing impossible goal (that being: getting my old athsmatic ass to run 3 miles in a row).  So bleah, I quit, temporarily, I figured.

So...today my baby is 8 weeks old, so I got my old athsmatic ass off the couch and ran a half mile.  OUCH!  Apparently there are these muscles in the backs of my ankles that I ONLY use for running, because they've been as dormant as King Arthur, judging by the way they're screaming now.

But...I ran! Yay.

(Edited:  In case you're a new reader, I feel I should point out that I did not give birth to my child, so going running 8 weeks after his arrival is not heroic.)