Somewhere, USA--Flaco still is on the "PUP" (physically unable to perform) list, but inside sources say that he is gradually getting into playing shape.
In a heartening development, I ran twenty minutes yesterday, at a clip slightly behind that of my glory days-when exactly these years were, I don't know. I didn't feel drop-to-the-floor tired, as I did during my first few forays into running after my injury. After about five instances of running fifteen minutes at a time, I moved up to sixteen minutes two days ago before jumping (pun semi-intended) to twenty minutes (and a few extra seconds, but who's counting?) yesterday.
"Painful?" my dad asked me. "How's it feel, does it sting or hurt?"
It doesn't necessarily hurt, except on occasions on which I'm on my feet for extended periods of time, or I'm wearing flimsy dress shoes. It does, though, feel frozen. To wit, I'm still not able to do calf raises on my left foot--whether in tandem with the right, or by itself--without grabbing on to a shelf or something about waist to shoulder-level. The tendon is still quite weak.
Pain, it is said, is weakness leaving the body. Then bring on the pain...