8 Miles

At last, it's not 118% humidity! I didn't feel like eating the whole can of pringles when I was done!

The past few days (since Wednesday, really) I've been soooooo tired. It didn't help that Thursday night I went to see South Pacific with my dad (oh, the irony of *dancing* sailors singing about wanting a girl). And it didn't get out till past 11 pm. My back was achy, and I thought it was just the uncomfortable theater seats. Turns out, I was coming down with something. I always get muscle spasms and pain in my back when I am brewing a fever. Yesterday, I was beyond exhausted and my very bones ached. I thought it was just new-mom tired. But then I took my temperature - 99.8! So I ate and drank as much as I possibly could and went to bed early.

I woke to Max crying at 5 am. At some point in the night, the battery in the baby monitor died, because *someone* unplugged it. I'm not going to say who, but it wasn't me, and the cats have no thumbs. Anyway, I heard him wailing, and was first freaked out that I hadn't heard him earlier, and then absolutely delighted that I wouldn't have to pump! I fed him, settled him down, and he was back asleep by 5:30. I knew I shouldn't have given him avacado right before bed.

Anyway, I was feeling much improved this morning, and my temp was a cool 97.4. So I headed out to run with the group, starting at White Hall vineyards and going up toward Sugar Hollow and back. It is a great route. Dappled shade, the rushing of the Moorman's river as constant company. I am one of the slowest Saturday people, and I started the run with a beefy two-time marathoner named Harold. We had a good chat, but he was only doing 6 miles, so I was on my own after he turned back at 3 miles. Just before the turnaround at mile 4 is the most killer hill I've ever seen. I just couldn't make my legs go fast enough, so about halfway up it, I slowed to a walk until the water stop at mile 4. It was fun going down, though.

At the water stop at mile 6, I met up with Jim, and we plodded the rest of the way back. He's 63, and not an easy guy for me to keep up with. We ended up doing about a 12:15 pace overall.

My husband accused me yesterday of not being athletically competitive. I do this because I am competing with myself. He's a laid back Cancer - I'm a thick-headed goat of a Capricorn. I wouldn't be doing this if I had any athletic talent at all, unless I could win. I do it because it's hard. I've always picked the things that are hard for me to do. Math was easy, so I majored in Sociology. Writing was even easier, so I became an airline pilot. Flying got easy and boring, so I went to grad school. I'm not a natural pilot; I'm not a natural runner. But I do it just to prove a point. Just to prove to myself that I can do something that I probably have no business doing. Just to say I can do it. Because it ain't braggin' if ya done it.

What's that line from A League of Their Own? "The hard is what makes it great."

Yeah, this is hard. And it is GREAT.

Epilogue, or, Why We Don't Run in Basketball Shorts:
My first bout of chafing! Discovered when the hot water of the shower burned like fire. Holy #%^&^%$! My right inner thigh is ouchy, but it's the small of my back that took the real beating - apparently, I cinched up my Camelbak a little too tight. And #&#$%^^@ I've got this raw area about the size of a quarter in the small of my back. Anyway, I'll be getting some proper running shorts on Monday.