Twelve miles down, three more months to go.

I ran of my own free will after work last night. It was sort of a miracle. Like, God actually reached down and patted me on the head for my accomplishment. "There, there, young slacker. Way to get off your ass," says He.

I ran a six mile loop from my apartment and along the lakefront. Best idea ever. I don't know how it's possible to live within near-viewing distance of Lake Michigan, and not spend every single minute on the shores just watching pretty boats.

Boats! Yay! Waves! Beach!

It's an entirely different world along the lake. One that I should really become more acquainted with.

So that was six miles under my belt. I felt pleased. But this morning I set my alarm and ran another six at dawn. TWELVE MILES IN 24 HOURS. That's more than I've ran in, like, a month.

I'm like a proud mama.

This morning was fantastic. The path along the lake was void of baby strollers, frolicking children, scary men, and general hullabaloo. I passed other runners here and there, all who nodded with a friendly "g'morning," and went on my way.

I'd like to say this sudden urge of determination came from a burning desire to feel the wind in my hair and the pulse in my legs, but really, I am just damn determined to see a couple less pounds on the scale next Tuesday.