My ankles are still sore, or, perhaps I should say, they are sore, as it feels as if this is their new and constant state. I strolled a slow 15 miles today, past the railroad tracks, the CSX engines moving the container trains back and forth, loading or unloading I could not be sure, but the groan and squeal seemed appropriate, matching the ache in my bones.
I passed brand new condos and picket fenced houses for sale and a couple of buildings that looked as though they might be the summer homes of zombies, shattered shop fronts in brick from another century, for sale or lease, several signs declared.
In seventeen months I hope to be writing that I completed the Keys 100 ultra. If so this will not have been the beginning, but it is as good a place as any to start, and a beginning, none-the-less.