I remember a time when running 5km was a drag, a slow motion of heavy legs complaining of fatigue even before the halfway mark.
I remember a time when completing 11km was considered a milestone. I remember that just attempting to achieve that distance meant getting an extra good rest the night before and rising early on a weekend morning just so I can huff and puff my way up the hills and clock that distance, never mind the time it takes to finish.
I remember all that from about 6 months ago. But it all seems like a dream and half a lifetime ago now.
Today, I ran 28km. Difference being, it’s not a weekend but a Thursday. I had gotten off work, taken a 5kg backpack, and ran the merry distance with nothing much to complain about afterwards except some tiny blisters.
This, for now, is a milestone. But apparently milestones, like rules, are made to be broken.
I suppose one day, this, too, will turn from a milestone to a mere memory.
And it will be beautiful :)