Or, I Could Fly to London

Today’s prescribed long run was just 10 miles, and since there was no bag watch at Bethesda Fountain with TNT this morning, I planned a route that started right at my front door.  I ran over the 59th Street Bridge, as I do a few times every week, but this time kept going uptown on the East Side, on the East River footpaths, all the way to 102nd Street, at which point I turned around (doing my best airplane impression with “vroom” sound effects and everything) and came home.  I finished in 1 hour and 45 minutes, which was quicker than I thought by about ten minutes.  I double-checked Gmaps Pedometer when I got home, thinking I ran maybe 9.5 miles instead of ten, or something, but no — I ran ten miles.  Which made my training run pace a 10:30 minute mile.  This is a good sign because I’m hoping to run the marathon at around 11 minutes per mile, which would get me over the finish line in about 5 hours. 

Five hours.  I laugh.  I could fly to London in that time, but instead I am choosing to run nonstop, basically in a big, crooked circle, just so I can say I can do it.  Well, and also to help fund cancer research, which is no small part of this whole personal challenge I willfully gave myself.

We were at the Pennsylvania house this week for a few days, doing a little holiday detoxing.  I sleep like the dead there; my runs are uninterrupted by traffic, and I cook like Suzy Homemaker herself.  It is truly a haven, and a guaranteed relaxer.  Sure, I’d love to finish the basement, put down hardwood floors in the living room, and make our master suite a little bit sweeter.  But really, all in good time.  For now, I just need to sit by the fire with a glass of wine, the dog at my feet and a book in my lap, and forget about my job, my family, my husband’s periodontal surgeries (poor kid).  Maybe get up and shuffle to the kitchen to whip up a batch of my special Mocha Chocolate Sploosh Heaven ice cream.  If Husband is lucky, I’ll make pancakes & bacon for breakfast, and mom’s famous meat sauce & spaghetti for dinner (always grilled cheese & tomato for lunch).  Give the dog a bath, chase her up and down the steps to the loft as her ears flap and tongue hangs.  Go for a run before the sun sets (a double-circuit of the neighborhood is 4.5 miles of rolling hills).   Dance around the house to a Galactic album; sing along to Paul Simon.  Look out the sliding glass doors at the snow as it twirls down.