So I have been flat on my back with a cold (well, not really flat on my back, more like living my normal life and being like, "Errrrghhhhhnnnn" periodically) for a longish bit. I've been getting in periodic workouts but have SO not been keeping up with my training schedule. It hangs on the board, mocking me (it is a jerk) and sometimes fluttering in the breeze. Rude.

Even though the cold lingers, I went for my long run last night. Nine (point one!) miles in one hour and 49 minutes. It's 12 minute miles, which isn't fast, but it's also NINE MILES, so. And I really did feel great pretty much the whole time. At the beginning my internal monologue went something like, "WTF, WTF, WTF, WTF, turn around, turn around, turn around YOU HAVE A COLD IT IS A PERFECT EXCUSE AND YOU ARE SQUANDERING IT TURN AROUND OMG WHY I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU ANYMORE" and then, like it always does, right around the end of mile two, my mind went blank, rebooted and came back making jokes. Sure, under the microscope of a non-mid-run mind, these jokes would all probably be completely and utterly nonsensical, so I guess it's good that I don't remember them. I briefly considered getting a mini recorder to talk into during my runs, but I know for a fact that this would be about as successful as my attempts to write down my dreams by leaving a pencil and paper near the bed. I'd wake up to the note "Walrus, Paper tusks. Melting." Thanks, self.

Anyway, my plan was to do 10 miles yesterday, and around mile 7, shortly after I got non-lost (very possible I was in Narnia or similar at one point) I was like, "You know what? I'm going to do the whole thing. 13.1, today, RANOW." And chugga chugga choo choo I set off to do so with an unnoticeable to anyone watching burst of "speed." And then, 4 minutes later, it got really freaking dark. There was rustling in the bushes. Visions of skunks and getting sprayed and then being forced to sleep in the shed, curled up in the wheelbarrow danced in my head. And thus I headed for home. But I headed there with gas still in the tank, and the conviction that I can do this, and I am no longer afraid of The Half. I am maybe even looking forward to it?

Man, who am I? In February I could barely even run one single, solitary mile. 2010 has been good to me. Ugh, barf, running is making me earnest, and not in a Goes to Camp kind of way, which is the only way I really understand. I am at war with myself. Terrible.