It is late December.  If I go out for my morning run early enough, there just might be a glimpse of frost on the sand.  Today I am lucky.

For this taper, I prefer runs by the sea, choosing a course that is flat and fast: perhaps along the stretch by the Great Highway.   Or maybe, I should go to the “hands” and back again and again with Chrissy Field as my giant track.  Its soft sand of a path swept clean by winter winds.  Florida will be flat and I decide that my taper is not a time for hills.

The sun slants low on the horizon, blinding me when there is even the slightest film of dirt on my windshield.  If I pull out my sunglasses, the scratches loom large.

At home, I exercise my feet in the hopes of curing my errant stride.   I roll back and forth of my orange tube working out the kinks.  The holidays have compromised my cross training.

I feel oddly deflated and I am not sure why.  My disappointment to not be racing the half is greedy but i can’t seem to shake it.  It feels less fun and I want this to be fun.  Disney appears as a far off mirage when in fact it is around the corner.   My feet are cold and when I do my exercises, they really hurt.