Redemption: 20 Miles

Apologies to the one or two people who read this; on account of that whole Sandy mess, I’m just returning to full functionality on the ol’ inter tubes, after ten days offline; I enjoy writing SFoT, but not nearly enough to bother thumbing out entries on my so-called smartphone.  Factor in the work mess from which I still need to extricate myself in the wake of the unplanned, unpaid “vacation” that followed Sandy’s wrath, and you can see why I’ve been AWOL for a few weeks.

You may recall that my 18-mile training run was a bit of a disaster: the wall, leg cramps, almost died, yada yada yada.  My “virtual coaches” assured me that I would bounce back in time for the 20; “take it slow” was the consensus.  Also, in an effort to ward off cramping, I had two bananas before setting off, and filled two of the bottles on my belt with Gatorade, rather than water.

I was treated to an Autumn morning, the likes of which I couldn’t have done a better job creating, even with my own personal weather machine.  Heeding the advice of those who have gone before me, I took it slow.  Really slow.  Just-fucking-finish slow.  As a result, I realized the heretofore laughable achievement of running twenty miles.  On the same day.  In a row.  Without stopping.

When I just-fucking-finished, I didn’t think “Oh well.  My goose is cooked.  There is no WAY I will ever be able to run another hour (plus…very much plus) after doing THAT.”  I felt eerily calm.  I just went into the kitchen, brewed a cup of coffee, ate something, hosed down, and was out the door with the family in under an hour.

Being on my feet for several hours after was a blessing and a curse.  I probably felt better Sunday morning than I would have, had I parked my ass in front of the TV for several hours with a pizza and a six-pack.  Which was for the best, because shit was about to get REAL in New Jersey, in less than 24 hours.


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