There is no good reason for a man of 40 to start a summer morning in Nebraska by putting on his tennies and running for all he's worth, other than to save his life. That's how my day began, and I'm fulfilled for now. Shape. I have to get in it. I'm not nearly overweight. I'm definitely presentable. But I'm 40, and I have a baby coming. He needs endurance. That I don't own. But I will. One foot in front of the other, despite angry lungs taunting me. Despite shoulders so tight I could pluck them like guitar strings. Despite a head pounding so hard I could rap over the beat. Despite legs so leaden I could erect a tent by their poles. Horrible. Yet, I'm fulfilled for now. Even as my daughters incessantly bicker and battle upstairs, their footsteps so thuddingly heavy the floor might collapse on my head. Even as my dog snores near my feet, relieving himself of pent up gas as he does. (Horrible.) Even as mowers outside cutting brown grass that's too frustrated with heat to grow ruins the silence. (Most horrible.) I'm fulfilled for now.
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