Yesterday I ran my 20 miles, and psychologically I really needed it since I missed my long run last weekend. I ran the first half of those with my friend Marta, the one who runs sub 4-hour marathons. She was kind enough to stick the “slow” pace out with me. I was also testing out a new pair of turquoise shorts that deemed promising on a few previous short runs but turned into a “where did they hide the razor blades in the fabric” chafing game for twenty miles. So, no, I’m not wearing razor blade shorts in Chicago – even if they are a really pretty turquoise.
It was a hilly course and the miles were hit or miss with either feeling good or pretty awful. I was either running well or dating Galloway again. Add in a side order of knees pain and foot cramping for good measure and you’ll get the whole picture. A real mix up of a run and I can’t use heat as an excuse because it was only wonderful 70 degrees outside. I finished with an 11:27 pace. How can one go from running fast to running slow? Am I not the same me I was when I was running faster than running slower?
I’m not complaining. Or am I? Oh well. As I was walking back to the house I noticed that my left ankle was a more sore than any other place on my body and bells started to ring to the tune of Austin Marathon. I was slightly achy and tired all over, but other than my left ankle, I really felt pretty good.
I was totally worried about the ankle until about noon today when I noticed that I was totally pain free. And not just pain free – more like “I feel disturbingly great for running twenty miles” pain free. Other than some grotesque gouge-like chafe wounds in some really unusual places, I don’t feel like I ran twenty miles at all.
This is a good sign. So Marta and I celebrated with a beer at a nearby restaurant. Then we ate some pizza and I gained thirty pounds. Sigh. You know, the only problem I have with beer – is that it tastes like beer. But I reckon beer-tasting beer is better than no beer at all.