Yesterday I found myself wallowing in a shallow pit of sluggish misery. It was approaching and I was mechanically nursing a third cup of coffee. The usual enjoyable nectar had become nothing more than sustenance. As I unconsciously raised my mug and took a sip, the blackness rolled over my taste buds providing… nothing, all enjoyment was gone. Now where is the fun in that?
Ally told me that she suspected Isla was getting sick, which was all the reasoning I need to convince myself that my preparation was doomed. I was done. The fact that last week’s mileage hadn’t seen such heights since the spring of '07 had nothing to do with my new reality. Nor did the accompanying fact that Sunday’s three-hour jaunt was still fresh in my legs. Nope, this fickle runner had thrown in the towel.
And so with nothing to lose, I went home that evening and made some French onion soup, complete with Gruyére and a bottle of white wine. I love slow food.
Fast-forward a few hours and I found myself reining the legs in on my jaunt to work. It’s becoming noticeably darker in the mornings, but this morning’s pale shroud was comforting. And as I clipped through Cedar Hill, a stride that I’d feared lost was found.
Tomorrow I use me new marathon shoes, the Saucony Fastwitch… no brakes!
Monday: day off (scheduled)
Tuesday: A.M. steady 53:50, P.M. easy 44:18