Whenever I dream about running - which is fairly often - I don't remember it like I do the rest of my dreams. It comes to me later, the feeling that I ran some time in the recent past, and not because I feel it in my muscles but because I think about running and it scares me. When I run in my dreams, my legs don't work, my shoes trip me, my arms pump out of rhythm, I can't go right. It's this sensation, this echo that I remember, and I forget it was a dream and associate that utter frustration with real life running. And that's wrong. No one has ever called me a graceful runner, but there's something I really enjoy about finding the right form, that sweet spot of loose and strong with my limbs and core helping to push me forward, that I forget about when I'm not in the act of running. And as it turns out, I do like to run. Today I ran two and a half miles, and it didn't feel good, but it felt right.