20 Miles Last

Wow.

Just.  Wow.  What an amazing training cycle this has been.  Maybe I’m forgetting the tough times.  Maybe I’m completely blocking out the tough runs… but from where I sit now, I have had a really great training cycle.

Todays run was ~savor~.

The last 20 of the year.  Packing for Taper Island…  Can’t wait.  My body needs it.  I need it.

Biola-Buds!

A smile connected me to my Biolabud and we lined up to run.  A nod to Birch, a giggle with Karasmatic, some knuckle bumps and a few nerves zap through the crowd like electricity.  20 miles.

Through the city, up and back, picking up runners and falling into a groove.  Past MTTographer.  A smile, a wave, light feet that can’t be stopped by the teasing banter exchanged.  The plan was executed.  Pick up T, slow to start, pick it up later.  20 miles.

We crossed the river, suspended by fog and draped in dew coated spider-webs.  We ran in formation marching out single file across the bridge.  Only the shoulders of the beautiful runners ahead of me were visible, their muscles bunching as we powered up the sharp incline.  The rhythmic huh-huh-huff as we climbed was vocal testimony to the work we were performing.  We ascended up out of the river valley.

A slice of negativity tumbled down a hill.  It was quashed under our soles.  No room to carry that today.  20 miles.

Aimless and aiming, we ran.  20 miles.

A yawning chasm, the James River again, the golden landscape stretched before us.  Power up, it’s time to run.  20 miles.

Onto Main, my focus slips.  I feel the uncertainty tangle around my feet, tripping me like an uneven brick sidewalk.  The voice of reason speaks in my ear, to “pull me out of a ditch if I should ever 
fall into one” reminding me.  I am Strong.  1.4 miles.  It’s short.  Last year I threw away my uber goal on that 1.4 mile stretch of pastel lined road.  This year, those bricks don’t stand a chance.  “I learned this, at least, by my experiment; that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours."  20 miles.

Race pace at the Boulevard, up, up, we climb toward our destination.  We don’t suck, crossing Broad, in a groove.  In tandem, as always.  Finishing.  20 miles.

Today was not about the glory of the 20.  

It was about making it good.  Making it count.  Making it last.

~Savor the run~