13:11

13:11 was my time on the Misery Mile, a one-mile loop through my neighborhood with a huge uphill stretch just past the halfway mark.  Why would I be happy about a thirteen minute mile?

Because I know how close I came to losing it all: my livelihood, almost every activity I've been passionate about for the last 20 years.  Had that mower blade struck two inches lower on my foot I would have been in the hospital for weeks instead of two days.  I certainly wouldn't be back at work, and I absolutely wouldn't have just completed that micro-run.  I can't feel an iota of self-pity, only gratitude that I am in such a good place emotionally to get on with my life.

Me: I want to start swimming; when can I start?
Dr. Mah: Today.
That was the music to my ears that gave me today's burst of empowerment.  My stitches are out, and the wound is almost completely healed.  Despite my doctor's statement I am gonna wait until the scabbing is gone before I get in the water.  I'm not waiting another minute before I start running, though.  The stitches are out, and the gloves are off.