Goal: Met. Barely.

With six miles down on Saturday, I set out yesterday afternoon to see how many more I could add to the total. Would I feel good enough for another long run? Or would I split my remaining six miles into two days? The suspense! The intrigue!

I decided to try for a longer run, around five with the option of tacking on an extra mile at the end, if things were feeling good.

My knee was protesting mildly when I hit the trail. I've learned that many of my little aches will go away as my body warms up, and I was happy that this one disappeared after a mile or two.

On the whole, the run felt much better than the previous day. My body was moving with more freedom, and as I was running around the three mile mark, I had the vague impression that I was moving faster than usual. Looking at the map and my splits, I was right. I average 15min/mi on my long runs, but this time, miles three and four were 14:19 and 14:02 respectively.

That's one of the hardest parts about running at this stage, I think. My sustainable speed is still quite slow, and I don't mean that in a numbers and pacing sense. I mean it feels slow. When I move just a little faster, I click into that beautiful place where it's like gliding. But I can't maintain it for very long. The sensation leaves many of my runs feeling a little lackluster.

The more I do this, the closer I get to holding onto that feeling. And boy, is it worth it.

I wrapped the run at 5.67 miles, leaving me just short of my goal total. No problem, I thought, I'll do the rest at the gym tomorrow, maybe with a little extra.

And then, it hit.

It crept in, slowly, throughout the day. It began in my lower back, my muscles tightening slightly, and worked its way up my spine and into my shoulders. By the evening, my neck was sore, full of kinks I couldn't quite get out. I had that all-over feeling of extreme discomfort.

I tried to shake it off, thinking it was fatigue from overuse. That was the obvious solution. I parked myself on some ice packs and called it good.

Hours later, when I began shivering on the couch, unable to warm myself, I realized I was wrong. The last time I checked my temperature before finally drifting into a fitful, interrupted sleep, the display said 102.6.

There is a lesson here, and that lesson is this: When trainers and doctors say that vigorous exercise may suppress your immune response, they mean it. I opened the door with my run, and some kind of vile, heinous bug walked right in and made itself at home.

The good news is that the fever broke quickly. By the time the sun came up, I was a sweaty mess and my vital signs once again made sense. I spent most of my day alternately resting and dozing, a suitable use of my Labor Day.

And, of course, as the day went on, I was less and less satisfied with the fact that I hadn't hit my goal. A fraction of a mile stood between me and where I wanted to be today.

This evening, I caved to my own pressure and hit the gym.

Know what's weird? It was a great run. Slow, controlled. My breathing was very slow and unstressed. I'd been expecting to labor my way through a mile or so, and the ease with which I ran tonight was a huge surprise.

So. There we have it. 13.2 miles in three days. Someday, I hope these numbers will be typical and unimpressive. But for now, they're pretty awesome.