Sunday 20 and I am a hot mess on Monday

Friday's (and Saturday's) snowy, rainy mess lead to the second cancellation (see previous blog entry), but luckily Jack, our utterly awesome training coach, set up an "unofficial" group run on Sunday, out of the Woodland T stop. About 30 of us ended up there around 9:00 a.m. on Sunday, happily finding all the fixins' for multiple water stops--volunteers, gatorade, and peanut m&m's.

I was absurdly happy to see Caitlin back at it again, putting in a sleek 10 miles in the name of good (but not irresponsible) miles. My first 10 were spent with her and Matt, another runner for Dana-Farber, who regaled me with horror stories of the first marathon he and his wife ran together (apparently some friendly softball teammates of hers, drunk and in jeans, saw the horrid shape the two were in, and ran several miles with them to keep them going). After Caitlin stopped at 10 miles, I spent another couple running with Matt, before the two of us parted ways for the remainder. Around this time, Matt asked how the training was going for me--to which I responded "Pretty good...My legs feel really strong. But I'm having a little stiffness in the knees."

Famous last words. By Mile 19, my left knee had turned into a fiery ball of agony with every punctuated hit of my foot on the cursed asphalt. The day, earlier a sunny, beaming, glorious thing, suddenly seemed cruel and eternal. (Needless to say, I am exaggerating. It was, in fact, still a gorgeous day for running.)

Finishing Mile 20 was a study in contrasting emotions for this cat--the sure knowledge that I should have called it quits several miles earlier and rested my sore knee, and that I would certainly be paying for it (I am)...ah, but then...the sure knowledge that my own legs had just carried me 20 MILES. Under my own physical and mental power, I traveled 20 MILES on Sunday.

It's hard to be upset about that. Even if it means a boatload of ibuprofen, ice, and a forced rest from running for the next week. There are days when absolutely nothing matters but the knowledge of what you have done and when the possibilities for what you are capable of doing seem positively endless.