I'm Superstitious About Calling It a Miracle

I run little tests. This afternoon I hauled and stacked wood for an hour--big fireplace logs. Then I did a three-mile quick march with my dog along the road. I felt terrific.

Trying this a year ago, I would have been tempting that ominous stirring that I think of as the Shadow--the dark, incipient something in my chest, bad news that used to arrive with sweats, shortness of breath and pressures and pains wisping about the chest bones like evil electricity. A year ago, hauling the firewood might have killed me.

I am superstitious about calling it a miracle: I don't...

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