don't call it a comeback

If you thought for a second that I could triumphantly return to running without documenting every little tiny insignificant step, well, then you're a fool.

I was granted ten minutes of running at my PT appointment yesterday morning, and I tried to wait until the conditions were ideal to head out: sun shining, wind gently whipping my sunglasses off and into the street, stomach the perfect combination of "I ate too much pasta for lunch" and "feed me again, please."

The poet made sure to commemorate the occasion by taking at least six photos for every glorious minute I was permitted to bounce down the street.

Indeed, it was a family affair.

I started out pretty tentatively, but after a minute or two without shooting pain up my leg, settled in and it felt oh-so-good.  Heavenly, even.  Big ups to my calf.

Sadly, 10 minutes and 47 seconds was definitely enough for the first day, and I woke up sore and stiff and limping just a bit, but I'll take it.  Don't call it a comeback, baby, I've been here for years.