For the Love . . .

I bet you thought based on the title of this post that I was getting ready to complain a lot, didn't you? Actually, I am writing this post to re-declare my love for running. Shocking, I know . . . but running and I? Yeah, we're homies again.


On Thursday evening, as I was sitting in my claustrophobia-inducing windowless office, I decided, "Screw work! I'm going home and running." I got Wilson on the phone, found out he was about to leave work too, and we agreed to meet at home, change quickly and then head outside for a 5-mile run. Now, I won't lie to you . . . once I got home, I did momentarily consider plopping my hind-end down on the couch and remaining there for the rest of the night. It had been a ridiculously exhausting and frustrating week (thus, no blogging--sorry, guys!), and a nap and some crappy tv sounded absolutely delicious. Luckily, Wilson helped me snap out of my funk, and we headed out the door around 8:15 p.m.

It was nearly dark outside, but the temperature was perfect. It was just one of those gorgeous nights that was meant for running--I had on a tank and shorts, and was really comfortable--not too hot, and not too chilly. For some reason, I opted not to wear my Garmin. This is strange because I depend on that thing like I depend on oxygen . . . but something inside told me to leave it at home. So I did.

Wilson and I chatted a little bit during the run, but for the most part, we just ran silently. It was so calm and peaceful in the park, it seemed like I was a million miles away from the loud and chaos-filled streets of Brooklyn. I remember somewhere around mile-2, I realized that I felt REALLY good. In fact, I felt so good, I felt the need to break the remarkable silence. "It's amazing how good I feel, considering I've been doing just long runs for the past three weeks. I guess maybe cross-training is more worthwhile than I thought." Wilson negatively remarked that we weren't even half-way through the run, and that I shouldn't count my chickens before my eggs hatched . . . but not even that could bring me down. I just knew I was in the zone.

Sure enough, come the end of the run, I still felt as good as new--like I could have run forever. Although a part of me really wanted to keep running, another part of me with screaming out in hunger (quite literally). It was after 9 p.m. and my tummy was really not pleased about the fact that it was empty. Wilson and I walked home from the park and, on the way, I couldn't help but ask him, "so what was our time?" He looked at his watch, kind of chuckled, and then responded with 52:30. I just about fell over. "WHAT?!" I had felt like we were running much, much faster than that! I suddenly realized that perhaps the slow pace was the reason I felt like I could run forever . . . we'd been logging 10:30 miles! Oh well. It still felt good, and that's something I am really, really grateful for.

So um yeah. Yay for running!