The Death of a Running Goal

I had the best of intentions.

I had read so many accounts of men; many of them older, much older, who had set the same goal and succeeded for years, and years, and years.


I even set the bar low. It was just a mile.


I started so strong.


But then it happened.

The Black Death came to 286 and knocked the door down and let himself in.


I tried to fight it with all my might. I gave it all I had. Nothing seemed to work.


I grew weak. Mel said it was my fever, but I didn't listen.


I went to change clothes, but only made it to the couch. I couldn't hear. I couldn't see well. I was burning up.


Mel suggested we watch a little t.v. We chose to watch a documentary on MS-13. You don't want any part of it. We don't. Trust me. They will kill us all. The program lasted 50 min. I remember 40 min. I went upstairs to rest a bit. It was 7:30 pm.


I woke up the next morning at 11 am.


He killed my running goal with just one sweep of his hand.


That was four days ago. I have been down for the count since. I have only managed two walks of a little over a mile.


I thought I needed to tell you. Keep everyone in the loop. Well, now you have it. All my cards are on the table. I have been sick. Very sick. I have not run for four days. But tomorrow is a new day. I hope that means it will be a new start.

I am very anxious to hit the roads. Tomorrow is supposed to be an ice day in Middle Georgia. It will not keep me from running. Few things will.

David