"When you weren't here on Monday, Rob and I got into a fight about him spotting my back handspring on beam," Sarah says.
"Why?" I say.
"We have trust issues," she says.
I've gained a certain kind of resolve since the beginning of November. No need for a new year. In my mind, there's an estimate of how many days per week I should run. Sometimes I meet it and sometimes I don't. No matter. The bigger matter is that each time I run, I do no less than four miles.
For as long as I've been running, I've been the queen of small runs between the tougher workouts. Twenty minutes, thirty minutes. Break a small sweat and call it a day, hit the showers. But I realized in November that instead of saving my body for those longer runs that happened sometimes, the small runs were just boring.
There's a difference between three and four miles. Three miles is just about a 5K, a distance most people can show up and run. Four miles requires a bit more concentration. A little more commitment. It's a look toward longer races.
I figure: four miles becomes the new twenty minutes, six miles becomes the new thirty minutes, and now we're building to something.