Sunday, January 18, 2009
It hit me the other day. I last went for a long run 2.5 months ago. I miss them. Don't get me wrong, I should be thankful I can run at all. I'm up to doing 25 miles a week, five miles at a shot. The pace is slow, the Achilles still gets a bit sore afterward, and I still gobble Advil to take care of any inflammation. Overall, I should be happy with what I can do. Still, I don't want to run like that. It's something I can't shake. Maybe that's selfish or delusional. I miss setting out for a couple hours, passing through neighborhood after neighborhood on the West Side or grinding out loops in Central Park. I miss passing through into that zone where my body goes on autopilot and I lose myself into my thoughts. I do miss feeling spent and achy after 20 miles. Right now, though, as much as I want to continue the long runs, I can't. That's pretty frustrating. Deep down, I'm convinced it'll work out.