Spencer has the big race for the year in front of him. Mine is behind me. I got out for a run for the first time this month last Friday, and again on Sunday. My goal was to enjoy myself. Actually, I'm just slightly more ambitious than that. On Friday I wanted to see how it would be to run moderately aggressively for an hour on my forefeet. Answer: imagine running uphill for an hour. It took two days before my calves would permit me to walk down stairs straight. On Sunday I wanted to practice landing midfoot and leveling my hips (which tend to tip forward -- I run sway-back). Today I think I'll run because it's nice out and I want to. I hope to run tomorrow morning because I have a long drive and it would feel good. And so on.
This is a luxury. I've had a good racing year, defined as being better than last year, and all I have left (that I care much about) is a marathon in October, which I will run but I may or may not try to run fast. That means starting in September I need to get in some track work, some long runs, some tempo runs -- but not now. Now I just run, or not, depending how I feel. God do I ever love this sport.
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