Sorry for the teasing, June

252 miles for the month and 1,749.5 for the year. It seems strange that I'm on pace for 3,500 for the year, given the fact that this is a half-hearted exercise and photography habit now and not a genuine running one, and stranger still that I was, at one point a few months back almost assured of getting to 4,000, assuming no injuries or serious illnesses (never a safe bet at my or any age).

The only good thing I can say about the way I ended the first half of 2017 is that even eight or nine nondramatic, non-goal-directed miles a day still seems sufficient to move my fitness toward a higher plateau. This shows that I was worse off than I thought when I started this crap again at the beginning of December, which is perversely satisfying now that I realize I can continue to get faster at slow running by just showing up every day, popping my vitamins, and otherwise treating my corporeal self as something to be perpetuated (I won't say treasured") rather than abused.

I still haven't missed a day this year. If and when this streak no longer stands as a hollow boasting point, I'm not sure what I will fall back on. I'm too compulsive to neglect this shitblog outright and too honest to portray myself as entirely happy with the story it tells, so maybe I'll just pray for the whole Internet to fail.