Because of professional and social obligations this week (October is a sardine can, people), my mid-week mid-distance run had to double as my recovery run. My legs were still feeling sore from Sunday’s race and Monday’s acupuncture, and as I headed up to the park from 53rd and 5th, I had already given myself permission to run less than 8, but more than 7. No need to push it anymore; I’m officially in “grateful for the taper” mode. Plus, I really didn’t want to run the part of the 6-mile loop that dips below 72nd Street; I hate it irrationally and obstinately.
Even as my legs softly (yet insistently) ached as I rolled over Harlem Hill, I could feel my breaths smoothly flowing in and out, and my heartbeat cheerfully supporting the whole operation, doing its thing with nonchalance and team spirit. Hey Legs, it throbbed willingly, I’m here to make your job easier!
I remained sore even after I stretched out, but felt pleased that I could run 7. 4 miles in 1:07, a 9:09 pace with my heart and lungs feeling at home with the effort. What’s that saying? Home Is Where the Heart Is. Well, obviously!