22

Waking up at 4:15 isn't a natural thing. For that matter, neither is running 22 miles. Waking to find high 60s and humidity instead of the crisp, dry, fast early morning one would expect in October is enough to make you seriously question both the time and distance.

As the miles have been stacking up on the ol' body, I've noticed that starting is the hardest part. I'm surprised on a daily basis how slow I'm going and yet how hard I'm working to go that slow. But like magic, the body warms up, lubes itself, and finds its efficient groove. Within a mile or two, with less effort, I'm going faster.

Sunday was a 20 miler, though I added 2 miles to work up to a long run of over 3 hours. My long runs to this point have been very successful, and thanks to the guys I've been running them with, quite pleasant. This one, on the heals of what was probably my most challenging week of training in years, started rough. Some stomach cramps, heavy legs, and overall fatigue had me worried by 10 miles or so.

Throw in some challenging hills, water breaks, and a Gu or two, and by the time we hit the last long stretch, I was feeling pretty good. I had just blown one of the guys some shit for taking off, and now I was pulling him for 4 miles on the canal tow path. We ticked off for 7:45 or so miles, and it was at a relatively comfortable level of exertion. I was pushing, but I wasn't cruising either. It felt great.

I was tired all day, but just as much due to the 4:15 wake-up as the miles. I'm not as sore was I thought I would be, and I have even managed to rehydrate. This training for a marathon thing might be a good idea.