Slow Miles

The new year has started slowly.

The cold persists, the days feel short, and even when the sun shows up, it doesn’t stay long. Injuries keep arriving too — shoulder, hip — like familiar songs on an old radio station. You don’t hate them, but you recognise them the moment they start playing.

Nothing feels serious. More like overuse, accumulation, the quiet cost of repetition. I’ll ease back for a few days and see what changes. The new form has been asking different questions of my body, pulling it into unfamiliar places. Every form does this eventually. It doesn’t matter how many miles you’ve logged — wear and tear always finds you.

Maybe that’s part of the lesson. To move with more care. To notice what’s happening instead of pushing past it blindly. To appreciate each step, not because it’s poetic, but because it’s temporary.

I know how fortunate I am to be here, fully immersed in this life. I feel it in the small moments — the warmth of the sun on a cold morning, the quiet after training, the ease of a shared smile. I smile more than I frown. I look forward more than I look back.

Not everything needs fixing. Some things just need noticing.