Adventures in trail running

Today, on a long-overdue vacation day from work, I woke early to hit the trails. The temperature is meant to get dangerously high today, so I wanted to knock out my miles before the heat set in.

I gathered up my things, strapped on my hydration belt, and headed to the park. My plan was to put in four miles, as yesterday's attempt at a long run was cut short when I forgot to put on bug spray.

I couldn't remember the mileage on the paths I wanted to take, but I knew I was intending to be out for an hour or so. After about a mile and a half, I reached the gate where Park became Nature Area - also county property, but not strictly maintained and used as a preserve - and I thought Why not? I glanced at the map at the boundary and it appeared there would be only one path to loop around and back to the beginning of the park.

Good enough.

With an image of that map in my mind, I crossed the gate and picked up a jog. And it was beautiful. I rounded the first curve and came face to face with a doe grazing on the path. She ran up ahead and I slowed to a walk, meeting her again around the next bend. This time, she sized me up briefly before deciding that no two-legs was worth her time, leaping off into the woods.

If this is how my run is starting, I thought, this is going to be an amazing time.

And it was, for a while, as I weaved my way through the woods, the soundtrack from Jurassic Park in my ears.

Yes, the music was every bit as perfect as I hoped it would be. Yes, I did find myself running faster at certain points in the score. And yes, I did occasionally become suspicious of sounds off the path.

Clever girl.

But after a while, I found myself at a fork in the path near a stretch of prairie. I continued right, following an arrow, and came later to a four-way intersection. I hadn't checked my time recently, but I was sure I'd be back on park land by now. I was completely lost.

Toward one path, there was a sign saying "Loop", with an arrow to the left. I sure as crap didn't want to loop, 'cause I was getting tired, so I continued straight. Surely, I was almost there.

And the path turned. And twisted. And doubled back, between pools of water and through heavy forest. I was no longer sure of where I was. At all.

I was still on the path, and the path had to eventually come out somewhere. Right?

Right?

And so it did.

Back at the sign that said "Loop". Of course.

I concluded that I must have taken the wrong way at the fork. That was the only solution. I had to go back the way I'd come, to the prairie.

I won't keep you in suspense here: I went back, took the path I'd skipped, and it led me... not where I wanted to go. I ended up at a house on a dead-end road, trimmed with signs marking the end of the nature area.

Here, I finally gave in. I pulled out my phone, which has been tracking my journey via GPS, and took a look. I'd been on the run for an hour, had covered more than four miles, and was now at the absolute farthest point from the park I could have possibly been.

Weird.

With the help of RunKeeper, I found where I needed to go. I had two choices: Go back the entire way I'd come, past where I'd seen the doe more than half an hour before, or head back to the Loop and try to find the right path.

Having no right choice before me (and really not wanting to go all the way back to the beginning), I turned around - again - and set out for the Loop. By this point, my water was already half gone and the bugs were starting to pay closer attention to me. I'd resorted to carrying my towel in my hand, swinging it around my head. Once my shoulder got tired, I laid the towel over my head and secured it with my sunglasses. If I couldn't hear the bugs in my ears, I could block them out of my mind.

When you're lost and verging on desperation, you play these little games with yourself.

Once at the Loop, I figured out which path I hadn't yet been on, and I was satisfied I was on my way home. At long last, I was right.

By the time I got back onto park land, my Jurassic Park soundtrack had looped. The Velociraptors had hatched twice, Nedry had stolen the embryos twice. John Hammond had just recounted his life's regrets over melting ice cream for the second time as I found myself back on the gravel path of the park.

And then, I was done.

All told, I was on the move for almost two hours. I finished a little over seven miles, which was three miles more than I'd ever done at one time. When I checked the GPS at the four-mile mark, my pace was where I'd expected. The longer I spent lost, though, the slower it got. I had no earthly idea how long it would take me to get back and I slowed down dramatically. I needed to conserve.

It worked. After passing the Loop for the second time, getting back on track, I still had something left. I ran on my terms, in short bursts, sprinting like a kid to the top of small hills so I could ride them down. The trees were thick and the ground was grassy, and even being lost, the beauty was overwhelming.

Worth it? You bet.

There are a few things I'll do differently next time. I'll fuel up before-hand, because doing this on a 90-cal granola bar was rough. I'll force myself to slow down when slamming my recovery drink, so maybe next time I won't almost lose it in the gas station parking lot. I'll know my maps a whole lot better.

Okay, that last one's a lie. I probably won't.

It may have only been seven miles, but for me, that's forever. That's huge. That's, like, four more weeks down the road in my training plan. And apparently, my body and mind were both more ready for it than I'd expected.

Taking tonight off from training, because even the soles of my feet ache. I took an ice bath as soon as I got home, and I expect I'll be icing intermittently all day.

And while I sit, resting my sore and pitiful self, I'll be thinking about the next run.

Playlist boredom

I've had the same playlist on my iPod for the past several months. As a creature of habit, I've done well thus far, but with my new-found love of the trails, I've been wanting something different. Something befitting the run.

So my new playlist is of note: I have loaded the Jurassic Park soundtrack onto my iPod, ready for my next trail run. I've never been quite this excited to go running.

Trail running: a new discovery

After my utterly miserable (but for one shining moment, detailed in dewy-eyed splendor in my last post) four-mile, never-say-die mostly-walk/sorta-run Saturday, I decided to check out one of the local parks. I'd heard there were trails suitable for jogging, so I got my youngest brother on board with me and we made plans for a little excursion Saturday afternoon.

And boy, am I glad we did.

Quarry Park isn't enormous, only a few miles of trails on county land. But what it offered was a little piece of nature on the edge of the city. Wooded pathways, old granite quarries for swimming and fishing, a patch of natural prairie, and enough variation to keep me interested for an afternoon.

My brother and I weren't there long, less than an hour. Not enough. So I headed back myself Sunday.

Being out on the trails alone was just what I needed. I've always been a nature girl, I suppose, always wandering away from home, striking out on my own across the corn field and into the woods behind our house, pretending to be lost for hours.

Some of my best memories were from those woods.

So it's no surprise that I've fallen in love with the park. Every day this week, sitting at my desk, I've thought of those trails. How it feels to climb the modest hills and to coast down them, not thinking of my stride or my pace, letting gravity do its thing.

It's the closest I've come to flying since being kept off horseback with my torn ACL.

And it's becoming harder and harder to simply consider running the next best thing. Truly.

These trails aren't particularly technical, but they test me differently than the road does. The road, it sits there, unrelenting, smoldering. Waiting.

The trails, they are dynamic, dancing. Welcoming.

Both are important. Both are still overwhelmingly difficult and frustrate my lack of endurance. But in the trails, I think I may have found a new home.

Last time I went out, on Tuesday night, I put away my watch and checked the time once I started to feel the drag of fatigue. It had been 48 minutes. By the time I got to my car, more than an hour had passed and I'd looped over 4.26 miles.

Magic. There's no other explanation. And I hope this brand of magic sticks around for a long time.

Passing by on a Saturday

You were the runner: Worn shoes, tech shirt, running cap, Camelbak.

I was me: Sweaty, miserable, less than halfway into my intended four-mile run.

It was just occurring to me that I shouldn't have set out at noon, when the sun was so high and the trees offered no shade. My intervals had already begun to wilt and I was considering turning back.

I had just broken into another run, trying again, when you came upon me at a jog. I tried averting my eyes, embarrassed, but I couldn't help but lift them and smile. I guess I like people too much, try as I might to not.

And you held out your hand, thumb raised, and said with such conviction: Good job, runner!

Then, we were past, and it was over.

I hope that someday, when I'm a fit and accomplished runner, I might come upon someone struggling to make their way around the block, someone with so much determination on their face and desperation in their eyes; and I hope that when I pass by, I have the presence of mind to smile and tell them how much it means.

Because as simple as it seems, it's unforgettable.

Back on the radar and catching up

Hello again! What's new?

That's as good a way as any to start a post after so long, I think.

I'd love to say that I've been quiet because I've been busy having adventures and making great progress, but the truth is that I've been spending my time sitting on the couch, watching tv and making bad choices. And then, subsequently, being upset about those choices, and immediately making more.

Etc, etc.

These spirals are sneaky. I never see them coming. I feel them when they're happening, but I feel so powerless. What's the use?

I've done good things in the past month, and I deserve to own them. I did two 5Ks, one of which I managed to blog about, the other which I didn't.

A shame, really, because it was awesome. I set a new PR over three miles, 36:00 flat, over varied terrain in a state park, and it was in the pouring rain. I'd never before run in the rain; it's not something I'd ever chosen to do, for obvious reasons. But having been forced by virtue of a race, I can safely say that it was one of the most exhilarating, wonderful experiences I've ever had on the road. The rain kept the bugs at bay and helped to regulate my body temperature. My knees were so happy!

I will run in the rain again.

I also learned a valuable lesson that day. After my three-mile PR, my body felt good. Too good. I wonder if I can set another PR today?

Do you know where this is going? You do. I know you do.

So I went to the gym that night and blazed my way through a mile on the treadmill. I was determined, and my PR of 10:41 showed it.

Know what else I accomplished? I pounded the crap out of my good knee. I was forced to take a solid week off from running as a reward for my foolishness. The day that started as such a triumph ended on a whimper - literally.

That, I think, was a deathblow to my motivation. (And my pride.)

My eating habits have been poor. I've given into cravings not just occasionally, not just often. Every day.

This is where the self-loathing comes in.

I don't think that there are bad foods. Not really. I think that any food is acceptable when taken in moderation, and different people get different results from different foods. There's nothing inherently wrong with that box of cookies I ate while hidden away in my apartment last weekend.

No, what's wrong is that these foods deter me from my goals. They're tiny, delicious roadblocks that prevent me from making progress. Losing ground on goals that mean so much to me - goals toward which I'm working so incredibly hard - is emotionally painful, and it chips away at my pride. That's where the problem lies. Not in the food, but in what those foods do to me, in practice.

I will never, ever utter the oft-used phrase that "nothing tastes as good as skinny feels". I don't care one bit about skinny. I care about my fitness. My running. I care about being an athlete, and healthful weight loss furthers this goal.

Besides, my last entry summed up rather well how likely I am to ever be "skinny". Ohlol! These hips may be getting smaller, but they're not going anywhere!

So. Having said that, I've lost a lot of ground. My most recent evaluation last week revealed that I'm down to 194 pounds. When I see that number, I'm so freakin' happy I could cry. But when I realize that number is a scant 1.5lbs lower than the previous month's eval, it's sobering.

That tiny loss isn't a reflection of how hard I didn't work, it's a reflection of how many roadblocks I laid down. How many times I tripped over them.

How much I hated myself for it.

This isn't the first time I've felt this way, and it surely won't be the last. But digging out and overcoming the feelings isn't easy, no matter how many times I've done it before.

So here I am. Next Friday (the 13th!) will mark 9 months since I started on this journey. So far, I have lost 44lbs. This is worth something.

Here, I try to get back on track. I try to stop sabotaging my progress toward my goals. I recognize that I deserve these goals and that I am the only one who can achieve them - or take them away. I decide to take control again.

Let's see how this goes, shall we?

Preconceived notions

This issue of preconceived notions - specifically, what I keep thinking my body will look like when this journey is over - comes to mind frequently.

It was particularly persistent on Friday night when I found myself in the position of needing new clothes for a wedding. I've bought clothing since beginning to lose weight, but this was the first time I went out to buy something fancy. Like, a dress.

I've always avoided dresses, for many reasons. I like wearing sensible shoes. I like cushy socks. I have a hard time finding a cut I like, because it needs to be form-fitting enough to show my figure, yet forgiving enough to allow the tummy-squish when I sit down. It needs to be longer than mid-calf, because I'm not fond of how my calves look like wee tree trunks under a skirt, but not so long that my 5'1" (and change) frame trips over it. It needs to have sleeves that don't restrict my ample upper arms, or if it's sleeveless, the arm holes need to be small enough that I'm not showing off all my armpit flab.

You see my problem. This is why I don't go nice places.

So Friday, I headed to the local mall. While previous trips have been full of trepidation, knowing I'd be heading for the "Women's Section" - an unlikely euphemism for "Clothes To Make You Look Dowdy And Old" - this time was different. This time, I thought, I might be able to wear something different.

Something, you know, normal.

I won't keep you in suspense: It failed. The dresses I liked didn't come in my size, and the ones that did were terribly unattractive to me. When I checked the "Women's Section" in each of these department stores, I found a single rack of awkward twin-sets in garish colors and made of jersey.

I have a hard time believing that women really want to wear this. We just don't know better. We're not allowed.

After an hour of hitting every department store in the mall and trying on absolutely nothing, I hit a dress store that I'd never been in before. I browsed and found tons of possibilities in my size, and I filled my arms with clothes. I found a short skirt that I loved, two blouses that looked great on the hanger, and one dress that was fun and springy and was exactly what skinny-me would wear.

This dress, I thought, was perfect. It would look perfect.

On the way to the dressing room, I grabbed one more option, a dress that was pretty but bland, something old-me would wear.

This story ends predictably, given the topic of this post. The short skirt was out, the blouses were awkwardly boxy on my figure. The beautiful dress just looked wrong on me. The wrong style, the wrong cut, something. I looked like an imposter.

I looked like someone who didn't understand her own body.

I was trying so hard to have the body I wanted that I was ignoring the body I had. It's changed, yes, in wonderful ways. But the foundation is still the same. The big arms, the short waist, the muscular calves, the wide hips. These things haven't changed. They won't change.

So I put on the pretty-but-bland dress and took a look in the mirror. And there I was.

The funny thing about the clothes that old-me wore is that I spent a lifetime figuring out what worked. Those clothes still work. Only now, they look better than I could have ever imagined.

It was a smaller size than I've worn in twelve years. The size still had a "W" behind it, but that's what happens when you have wide hips. It's best to just accept it.

I'll never be tall and willowy. I'll always be short and sturdy.

I looked awesome in that dress, a smaller version of old-me. And, all things considered, I think I like it that way.

Race redux, zombie-style

Today was the big day, the race I've been waiting for since February. Run For Your Lives.

The race was to be a 5K obstacle course, like the mud runs that have become so popular, with a catch: Throughout the course, there are dozens of zombies. Runners are given a belt with three red flags, representing health, and during the race, the folks dressed as zombies stagger about, shouting and groaning and saying "Braaaaaaaains..." while trying to nab these flags. Keep them all and you're eligible for prizes in the placings at the end. Lose them all, and you're just like 90% of your cohorts. No harm, no foul.

I wasn't entirely sure what to expect. I've never done a mud run, nor have I ever spectated, and I had only a vague idea of what would be involved. So when I got to the location, a motocross track in rural Minnesota, I was a little worried.

Okay, a lot worried.

As I entered, I saw to the right what could only be described as one of the world's largest Slip-N-Slides, ending in a pool of mudwater. Since my wave was going off in the afternoon and I had arrived early, I watched folks taking their turn on this huge slide. It looked fun, sure. But it was high, and what goes down must have first gone up.

To the left, I saw a number of obstacles and a field peppered with zombies. I saw monkey bars above a pit of water, an exposed hill to climb up, and a not-quite-so-enormous slide down a muddy hill. No plastic on this one. Just a guy at the top with a hose, keeping the hill slick. From the number of people completing this obstacle in clean clothes and full flags, I reasoned that this must have been one of the first obstacles.

Greeeeeeat.

Armed with this glimpse of the track, my running cohort and I checked in, and shortly before our wave, we herded into the starting box.

It was in this black box, surrounded by my fellow runners, that the dread washed over me, overwhelming. Probably too late to back out now.

And then, we were off. The gate was opened and we leapt forward as a mob, taking a hard right through a muddy underpass and straight into zombie territory.

The course opened with hills. Lots of hills. Big ones, with rocks and little dips that fell and climbed relentlessly. Within minutes, my breathing was ragged, my chest sore, and my throat screaming. My inner monologue very helpfully pointed out that if the whole course was like this, I wouldn't make it. In fact, if only half the course was like this, I wouldn't make it. It was brutal. My confidence was destroyed in the first quarter mile.

I took solace in the fact that everyone around me was feeling the same way.

And then the worst was over.

The course was still difficult. Very. The darkened hallway with the exposed wires was scary, especially when the hanging wires touched runners and gave a little kick. The monkey bars were two inches too high for me to reach, so I jumped into the chest-deep water and took the losers' way across. There were four-foot walls to scramble over, streams to ford, mazes to navigate, and obstacles to crawl under. There was a muddy wall with a few ropes to help runners scramble up and an up-and-over cargo net that was no joke.

I hated that net. I almost bit it on that net. I settled for accidentally kicking the guy climbing up the other side. (Sorry, guy.)

And! My pants kept falling down. This is important. Spandex gets heavy when it's waterlogged and full of sand. FYI.

The opportunities for running were few. I'm not yet in shape for dominating those hills, so I spent a lot of time walking. Given the way we tended to bottle-neck at the obstacles, running may not have helped my time, anyway. Whenever I found flat land, I managed to pick up a jog, which was satisfying. I may not be fit enough for the hills, but I'm fit enough to jog even after I've been put through the wringer.

Interval training gets things done.

Shortly before the cargo net, I lost my last flag. I'd kept all three of them for quite a while, and I started to get optimistic. No such luck. My ACL-less inability to dodge and pivot made me an easy target for the chaser zombies, who started showing up late in the course.

Not having flags didn't stop the zombies from approaching and crying for my brains, though. I gave one hopeful zombie a hug when she staggered toward me, arms outstretched.

Zombies need love, too.

Then, finally, was the big slide. The really big one. To get to it, we came down from above, carefully navigating a much-too-vertical hill face.

What a difference an hour makes. Those first hills were so brutal, so unforgiving, and here we were at the end, looking out over the course from at least twice as high. Things are not always what they seem.

I slid down that enormous hill, arms raised in victory as I plunged into the muddy water pit at the bottom, and Sweet Martha's Cookies, did it all go wrong in that instant. I was moving so fast that no amount of squeezing my eyes shut could keep the tiny particles of dirt from shoving their way into my eyes, where the dirt quickly deposited itself under my contacts. I stood in the pit, eyes closed, physically unable to open them, staggering to where I thought the edge was. My knees bumped the wall and I dragged myself out, crawling.

"Are you okay?" Staff members were yelling, presumably at me. I don't know for sure, 'cause I couldn't see. But I decided they were talking to me, and I yelled that I was fine, I just couldn't see because my eyeballs were broken, or something. It's a little fuzzy in my brain.

After a few moments, I forced myself to open my eyes and made my way to a staffer, who shared his water so I could wash one of my hands and prod around in my eye. It didn't help the sensation of thousands of piranha teeth wedged under my lenses, but at least I could wipe the mud off my eyelids and see my way to the final obstacle, which I really needed to see on account of the fact that it was an electric fence.

For all the pain I was in, this was one of my favorite obstacles. It was a belly crawl, through the mud, under several feet of electrified fence. That's what the sign said, anyway, and unlike so many college-aged men in the race, I didn't need to walk up to the fence and grab hold before I became a believer.

Oh yes. It's true. True and hilarious.

And then it was over. I crossed the line, collected my medal, and headed for the overpass where a dozen shower heads pelted me with freezing water. I was too preoccupied with my burning eyes to properly wash up, so I cleaned my hands, poked my eyes some more, and made a hasty dash for my car.

There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth when I realized I had left my eyedrops at home and had no way to fix my contacts. I angsted and cried about how it all hurt and I didn't know how we were going to get home until my kid pulled some out of his bag, forgotten there after his last trip.

I'll never lecture him about not cleaning that bag out again.

So here I am, safely at home. I have road rash on my arms from the crawl under the fence, dozens of bruises on my legs, sunburn on my neck, and two acutely painful hematomas on my rear from the first muddy slide. My eyes seem none the worse for wear.

Final results were posted an hour after the last wave finished. I landed in the top two-thirds and crossed the line a little over an hour after I started. I might have broken the one hour mark if not for all the lines at the obstacles, but really, those mandatory rest breaks were awfully nice.

The whole thing was a blast and I'm so glad I did it. I was worried I wouldn't be able to make it, that my knee wouldn't hold up, all the usual concerns. But it all happened. I like to say that I won't know where my wall is until I hit it, and while I wondered a few times today, I don't think I've hit it yet.

The search continues.

This thing, it's like a relationship

The more time I spend in this fitness program, the more I find it to be exactly like a relationship.

At first, it's all excitement. I'm so happy to see the gym, I look forward to every minute in its presence. I giggle when I talk about it with my friends. I glow.

Then, it becomes a habit. I go there every day, and it's okay, but it can be a chore. Sometimes, I just want to go out with my friends.

Slowly, the tedium creeps in. I step in the doors, look at the same old machines, and sigh. I'd rather be curled up on my couch, alone, watching a movie. And why can't I?

The next thing I know, it's a Saturday night. Or is it Sunday morning? I'm creeping to the kitchen. I'm grabbing the cookies I bought last week, "You know, as a reward for all my hard work," and I'm eating them all. Every. Last. One.

I can't face my protein bars. They know what I've done. I'm shamed.

Finally, I realize that this thing I have, this plan and these goals and this gym, it's worth keeping. It just might be the best thing that's ever happened to me. My eyes are opened and I understand. I recommit to the program - to myself - and start over again.

Okay, so maybe my relationship with the gym is more "dysfunctional" than just "relationship", but the point remains. Fitness plans are hard. They're repetitive. They're tiring. But the rewards are greater than any of that. Greater than all of that.

You know the best thing about the gym? It'll never judge you, and it'll always take you back.

Thank goodness for that.

Jealousy, aka Getting on with it, already

I've struggled numerous times in this journey, predictably dealing with the problems of plateaus and injuries, but only recently have I wrestled with an issue that I never saw coming.

That issue is jealousy.

If you had mentioned that I would get derailed over jealousy and the feelings of inferiority that accompany it, I don't think I would have believed you. I would have lifted my chin and said confidently that every body is different and will see results differently. I would have marched back to the gym and not spared it a second thought.

But coping with friends who are somehow losing enormous amounts of weight in very little time, all while shrugging their shoulders and saying "I don't know how I did it! I just changed my diet a little!" has proven to be a bigger challenge than I could have ever expected.

I'm happy for my friends. Really, truly, and entirely. Weight loss is hard and I applaud anyone who finds a safe way to achieve success. This life is precious and brief. The ability to make it better, in whatever way, is meaningful.

Still, the bitter sadness found a way through my pride and settled into a corner of my heart. My goals have been realistic and attainable. I have worked and sweated and cried. I have injured myself. I have fought.

And I have fallen short.

The inferiority complex I've been harboring has been immensely destructive. I've found myself falling into old patterns. I'm drinking hundreds of calories a day, I'm having impulsive snacks that I immediately regret, I'm eating late at night to fill some void that can't be filled by food. For weeks, I've slid slowly backward.

Yesterday, at long last, I started to break free. I put away the excuses - most of them, anyway - and have begun taking responsibility for myself again. I decided I was done hating myself for these temporary setbacks that I was unfairly labeling "failures".

They're not failures. I'm not a failure.

The good news is that I haven't gained any of my weight back. I have (mostly) kept my calories in check, despite my horrible choices. I was still running, and in retrospect, I can see that I was doing good things. I was just refusing to acknowledge it.

This is why I keep this record of my journey. To give myself credit. Submerged in self-loathing, I forgot that part.

So here I am, being honest with myself. I have lost 41 pounds. Tonight, I weighed in at 197. I ran for more than twenty minutes without stopping.

I ran for two miles without stopping.

Sitting here now, being able to own this success without criticizing myself, it makes everything better. It makes me better.

And that's what this is all about.

A timely update: A new 5K!

Within days of my foot feeling good enough to ditch my overnight brace, I had signed up for another 5K.

Of course I did!

The race was this morning, and it was a cross-country variety, taking place at an area farm. The path wound from pasture and field to wooded areas, all of which was absolutely beautiful.

I set my goal this time around as 45:00. The course description warned of some hills, so I knew I wouldn't be setting any personal records today. Setting out from the starting line, across the first field, I found my pace and got to thinking that I just might make it.

But when I hit the first hill, I strongly reevaluated my time. 'Cause yikes, everyone.

It was always nice to get out of the sun and back into the woods, until I made a turn and there was another hill, rising up in front of me. I told myself that I'd be happy to finish in 48:00.

I never once felt like I wouldn't finish. I doubted, sometimes, if I'd break an hour, like when I came upon the hill shortly after the two-mile mark. It must have been ten or fifteen feet high and steep enough that my upper body was parallel with the dirt as I struggled up it.

Thank goodness I was in the woods, alone. When I reached the top, I wrapped my arms around a tree and just leaned for a bit.

This is why I work on hamstrings.

I'm thrilled to report that I finished the race in 46:39! It was amazing. So amazing.

Slightly less amazing is that my foot is aching a little tonight, so it's wrapped and resting. I have a hunch that Monday will be a legs night, so I'm off running for the week anyway. Two weeks until the next 5K, which will be infinitely more difficult than today.

Memo to me: Pick a flat, boring 5K. It'll make you feel better.

Hooray for another day of running, and hooray for another day of success!