Something has happened over the past few weeks. It all started with my whining about how utterly slow of a runner I am. Really? At twenty-four I run anywhere from an eleven and twelve minute mile? Ridiculous. But I was at a loss of how to change it; every time I ran, I felt as if I were giving it my all, but I looked more like an asthmatic with a sprained ankle. Then something happened. One day I just started running faster. At first, it was only by thirty second per mile, a feat in and of itself by some standards; by the end of the week, however, the change had increased to two minutes. After a lethargic post-finals week, I expected this odd change to have dissipated as a fathom of my memory. But I was wrong: today, I ran 8 miles at a solid nine minute pace, and it was easy, relaxing, and refreshing. I'm still at a loss, but I'll take it while I can get it!
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