I'm at that stage in the marathon prep. where putting on the shoes is less a thrill than a chore. Every run seems to have a purpose, and there's the stress of not hitting the target -- x minutes per mile for y miles with z rest -- and so on. I have to remind myself that there are times when I run because I love it.
This morning I went out for an easy 30 minutes. Man was I stiff. After shuffling up College to Mass. to 10th Street, I found the legs turning over a little faster when I hit the Monon Trail. When I turned left at 16th I realized I was committing myself to going longer than I had planned but at that moment I wasn't complaining. Running down 16th is no particular joy, but after 5 miles I turned left on the White River trail. The warm ground interacting with the cold air made for a low fog over the river and the grass and I had the trail to myself. (I thought of early late-fall mornings rowing on Lake Cayuga when the same effect resulted in eights moving silently and nearly invisibly, with only 8 heads emerging above the fog.) By the time I was on the home stretch I was 60 minutes in and feeling my lack of morning nutrition. I held on for a good finish down Mass. Ave.
9 miles wasn't in the plan, but sometimes you just have to go with it. Sure glad I did this morning.
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