Between stepping up my running schedule and standing for long hours lecturing while wearing pretty shoes, I must have done something terrible to my feet. I can’t feel my second and third toes at all. The bunions on both feet have developed calluses and turned a strange shade of green. And in the spaces between the toes, the flesh is sort of…disintegrating.

There is an upside, I suppose, to my leprous condition. My feet don’t hurt at all when I run. Not one little bit.

Today, I took Dog out to the reservoir for a five-mile run, where he can run off-leash. I didn’t really have the time, as I’m leaving again tomorrow for another trip, but the weather was too beautiful to sit inside. The trail at the reservoir is quite challenging. The first mile and a half is pretty flat and hugs the water; the trail is wide but muddy and a bit rocky. Then the trail gets extremely rocky and begins a half-mile ascent. No rolling, no plateaus, just a half mile up, up, and up again. Then another half mile down, with the road widening and smoothing out, and here’s where you start to notice how tall the trees are and how lovely and dark the woods. You approach the water again, but then plunge back into the woods, where it becomes a proper trail run. The path winds this way and that, zigs left and zags right, just like the meanderings of little Billy in one of those “Family Circus” cartoons. (If you ever want to see Husband’s blood boil, just mention “Family Circus.” He can treat you to a five-minute rant on what a waste of newsprint it is.)

On a trail run, you sacrifice speed for accuracy. You have to plant each foot carefully so you don’t blow out an ankle. But a bouncy, changing, challenging trail is the running equivalent of a roller coaster: pure fun. You’re not timing your splits or checking your watch or monitoring your heart rate. You’re just smiling and enjoying the ride. Dog was enjoying it even more than I did. For every mile I ran, he ran three, circling back, darting up hills, running into the water and back. He chased squirrels and chipmunks and barked at cows (inexplicably quartered behind a fence seemingly in the middle of the woods).

I was on the downside of the hill, finally drawing breath, and just starting to think that if I encountered a rapist or (why not let my imagination go for a run, too) a band of gypsies or forest-based terrorist cell, I would be in big trouble because I was pretty isolated out there in the deep woods. I was trying to determine whether Dog would serve as any kind of deterrent to evildoers, or if they would suss him for the big softie he is, when I saw Dog pointing at something (in a doggie sort of way, not with an index finger). There was a flash of gray, and suddenly I realized that a tussle with a coyote was far more likely than any of my scenarios. But the animal went bounding away, and although I was frantically occupied calling Dog off I could see that it was not a coyote, but two deer. Dog gave chase, but half-heartedly, as if he knew he didn’t have a prayer, and then we continued on our way.

Happily, we encountered a number of harmless hikers in the next few miles, which made me feel better about running alone. I greeted each one with, “Hi! We just saw some deer!” They all had the good grace not to laugh at my excitement.