I found this morning that I could run faster but it would hurt. I hurried my pace, out of boredom almost, a desire to get home soon. It surprised me how much more it hurt—my lungs, my legs. But the air still smelled of pine needles from everybody dragging their Christmas trees to the curb and that felt good. When I got to the last crosswalk I quit and paced around, hands on hips, waiting for the light to change. I’d only run a mile.