It was one of those nights, as I suspected it would be, that reminded me what it is to be amazed by running and the city and myself.
8.07 miles in 1:18:07, 9:41 min/mile pace. Apartment to Dupont to Farragut to National Mall, breezy and humid and strong the whole way. No stopping except for like 30 seconds at an unfortunately-timed crosswalk by the White House.
I may have said on here before that I’m not often proud of myself, but strong runs - long runs in particular - always remind me that no matter how much I try to say otherwise, I am incredible. The accomplishment of running for nearly an hour and a half simply blows me away, because I remember not so long ago when twenty minutes was something to be fought for.
Anything is possible when you trust yourself. Just let go and let the minor miracles happen. A straight eight in less than 1:20 is my minor miracle right now.
As I ran, I wrote, and it reminded me of something that said running is poetry. Tonight, I couldn’t agree more. I’ll prose it up over on the other Tumblr soon, assuming I remember half the stream-of-consciousness stuff my mind created.
And then I got on the bus and was massaging my leg muscles and felt like Marshall trying to seduce Lily with his calves. (If any HIMYM fans can find me this gif I will love you forever and eternally…) Jason Segel, you have some fierce competition right here.