I just finished my longest run ever on a treadmill, and it really wasn’t bad.  I kept myself distracted with the Millionaire Matchmaker and just plugged through the eight miles until I was done.  It sure beat running outside in this horrible blustery winter-mix.  I left a window open beside me so I didn’t overheat, and it worked out pretty well.  Visions of Arm Day got me through the last couple of miles.
I still have assorted shit going on around me, but I guess that’s probably always the case, isn’t it?  It’s called Life, I think.
Coach has been in rare form this week, tossing weights around like a teenager on steroids.  I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but it’s all very impressive to me.  I hope he doesn’t hurt himself.
I think I’m so, so close to having the body I want, but something still needs to be tweaked – probably my food.  The problem is that now, in this final half of my training season, my mileage is going to be ridiculous, and my appetite will follow.  It’s just impossible to restrict my caloric intake right now.  I can only hope that running 43 miles a week will burn it all off.
It’s so crazy to say that I’m filled with anxiety, and I’m happy.  Those two things just don’t seem like they should go together.  I just have this underlying sense of wellness and delight – like a little kid who’s in time-out with her favorite soft blankie.  I have a sense of comfort and as long as I can experience Love over Fear even for a little while each day, then I’m good.
Tonight I feel grateful.  So very, very grateful. 

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