Yesterday was most definitely one of those running-keeps-me-sane days. Just a terrible, terrible day — my poor little SSRI pills must have been exhausted, trying to keep me from despair (what, and you don’t anthropomorphize your medications?) (or inject parentheticals into clauses set off by dashes?) — until 6:15 and the group run at the Beaverton PRC. It didn’t take long for me to notice that, physically, I was feeling great. My legs never got tired, and my lungs held out pretty well too. This with one day’s rest after a 15-miler? Color me happy. Mile splits 9:37, 9:02, 8:28, 8:48, 8:39, and the last .94 miles, before my lungs gave out, were at a for-me-blistering 7:43 pace. I was a little dizzy and could feel my heart pound in my temples and I felt great. All the worry about little small-picture drama fell away, the worry about larger things was put into perspective, and I was able to feel the important things again: I’m alive and living (two different things), doing things I love, and fairly happy with myself. Hooray for endo-pharmacology!
Why I’d Rather Be Running