Went for a run Monday, was windy and chilly. Was stiff and sore from two Padel tournaments on Saturday. Two miles slow, maybe 11 minute pace. Seems like a small thing with all the other things going on in my life, but it's not. Showing up to the track IS what's going on in my life. That slow uncomfortable run is reality itself. The encounter with it is the point. It's not a matter of discipline or self-improvement or getting in shape. Just a basic connection that pervades everything. There is no other life but the slow progression into the wind on the track surrounded by sparse trees and ugly buildings. Going again today. Will stretch for five minutes against a tree afterwards as I always do.