Cowboy Hazel

The bad thing about long runs is that they completely take over your weekend. I stayed in last night, ate healthy, and went to sleep early so I could wake up well-rested and energetic this morning. Upon waking, I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, stretched a bit, then headed outside to 116th & Pleasant, where I met Antonio. The run itself took a little over two-and-a-half hours, then there was a stop for Gatorade and snacks on the walk back, so it was already mid-afternoon when I returned home. After that, there was the painful stretching and showering and changing into clean clothes. And then, cooking yet another batch of pasta (that's two full boxes in the past 48 hours in case you're counting), before crashing in front of the television completely immobile for the rest of the day. My muscles ache, I'm sleepy and cold, and the blisters from the collar of my shirt are incredibly painful. Why do we runners do this to ourselves? I seriously think Philadelphia might be both my first and last marathon. I love running, but this twenty-plus mile stuff is just ridiculous.

We were supposed to do twenty miles today, but because of a mistake in mapping it out, we ended up running a little over 21 instead. We went down the East River as planned (except for the stretch between 81st St and 34th St where we were on York Ave then 1st Ave), looped around Battery Park, and started back up the Hudson. But, instead of going up to 155th as originally planned, we went up to 130th, then turned around, headed back to 96th and, from there, ran back to Central Park West.

The run itself went pretty well. We kept up an unbelievable 7:11 pace not counting two quick stops we made to buy water and Gatorade at carts. (Yes, that's faster than I ran the half-marathon last weekend. And, as a side note, that pace is good enough to qualify for Boston if I could keep it up for another 5 miles...) My ankle was giving me some serious problems in the middle miles, but the pain went away as the I continued. I think that was probably just because everything else started to hurt so much that I couldn't focus on the ankle anymore. Even though I had the Gatorade and a Clif bar mid-run, I was running on fumes at the end. The last couple blocks cross-town, with the stopping and starting for traffic, were some of the most painful minutes I've ever experienced, if not the most.

Well, other than this brief stint here at the computer to write this, I've done nothing since getting cleaned up except for laying in my recliner and watching the Yankees game on t.v. and reading some more of my book. And, in just a few minutes, I will be back in that recliner watching Rosemary's Baby and possibly reading some more before going to sleep super-early again. I need to wake up well-rested and energetic tomorrow morning for the Fifth Avenue Mile – Think I can set a P.R. on these old, tired legs? We'll find out soon enough...