(The last in a three-part series.)
I’d excused myself and retired early on Saturday night, since I wanted to be up early for my “long” run the next day. I had 7 miles to complete, and was a little nervous if I could pull it off without boredom, a side stitch, or extreme slowness. I’d decided to revisit the Lake Naomi Loop. Since my last run here in February, it had transformed from a winter wonderland to a secret garden, its wilderness artfully contained by the residents’ landscapers. Miles 1 and 2, while cool and shady, felt laborious to me. I told myself they were throwaway miles (10:09 and 9:24). Miles 3 and 4 felt fine, but I hadn’t yet convinced myself I could make it 7 miles (9:54 and 9:43). I took heart in all the other bikers, runners and walkers I passed during my workout; there definitely weren’t that many people (or actually, any people) out when I ran through here during the winter months. Mile 5 was mostly uphill, but I was warmed up (9:54). Miles 6 and 7 felt like a triumph–they were my fastest, my easiest (despite being in mostly full sun), and most even-keeled as far as perceived effort (9:12 and 9:21). I was thrilled for the rest of the day; I had proof that my engine still takes a while to get going, that my body remembers the meaning of far.
I returned home at 10 AM on the dot, in just my sports bra and shorts–my singlet was so sweaty I’d taken it off before I got in the car. I turned on the coffee pot, jumped in the shower, and was installed at my kitchen counter, whipping up brunch for the four of us before E, L or Husband wandered out of their bedrooms.
Orange juice and coffee
Scrambled eggs with dill and parmesan