Flashes of Panic

It’s unaccountably warm this morning. I went out in shorts, once again marvelling at the almost luminous paleness of my legs after a winter in the pool.

I think the paper nest I spotted in February may not have belonged to wasps at all; this morning I observed that the entry/exit hole seems much too large for just insects.

The Fort River is in early flood stages; I saw at least one place where it had spilled over its banks and was up in someone’s “back forty.” I skipped the Misty Bottom trail (normally one of my favorites) in favor of Mill Lane, somewhat more reliably dry.

My heart rate was higher than normal, in the 150s, but I was probably pushing a bit more than usual, and once I reach a level of effort it’s hard for me to back down from it. Once I stop, it drops like a shot. That’s the swimming fitness, I suppose.

I wish the problem wasn’t in my plantar fascia. I have a relatively long, bouncy miler’s stride, not a marathoner’s shuffle, and that means I deliver a lot of push at the end of my stride, which goes right through the arch. To get faster, I need to be doing bounding drills and hill work, eventually, and that’s really going to stress the PF. I miss being able to count on that pop in each step.