After reading my last entry, a good friend asked me if writing this blog is helping me to deal with all of this madness. My answer? An unqualified yes. In fact I was already planning on writing about that very topic today, so thanks, friend of mine, for asking.

After writing that entry, I went for what can only be called A Truly Good Run. And I don’t mean just any jog along the coast. No, this was the kind of run where from the first step, despite the recurring (and rather worrying) metallic click in my knee, my body feels like a strong, well-oiled machine, completely at my command. For once even my lungs were cooperating, which is rare – I swear my lower body musculature could’ve made me an Olympian, were I not also blessed with the lungs of a geeky asthmatic seven-year-old kid with braces. Or that’s my excuse, anyway.

As good as it felt though, the best thing about this run was not physical. Through long experience, I have discovered that I can only go for A Truly Good Run when my mind and body are at peace. Many think that runners run in order to achieve peace, which to a certain extent is true.

Until I started training more seriously last summer, I also thought this was true. As my mileage crept up, however, I discovered that running is much more cerebral than I had ever imagined. The difference between a 30-minute jaunt and a measured, carefully paced 10-mile run is huge. And the difference between a 10-mile run while your world is intact and an 11-mile run when your father is in the hospital is immeasurable.

Luckily, the opposite is also true. A 30-minute run when my mind and heart are at peace is like nothing else in the world. And that is the kind of run I had the other day after writing my last blog entry.

So yes, Rekabek, the writing is helping.

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