Stubborn CJ barely breaks a trot. Sniff, pee. Pounce lizard. Lie down. Like dragging a cinderblock on a leash. He runs if the path is wide and clear; narrow, rocky, steep, brambly—no go. His legs are moving but his heart ain’t in it.
Today we walk—notice, incubate.
I require running’s kinesthetics: body-creativity connection charged with rhythm of faster footfall, full bellows of breath—precursor to language.
Are you waiting for work conditions to be ideal? My husband says. Ouch.
My constant challenge: give in to the erratic metronome of life, ignore the insistent clock.
Take the next step.