Maybe, because as I’m typing this, there’s 60 degree air rolling in through the kitchen window, and it’s supposed to hit 55 tonight.
I snuck out of the office at lunch yesterday for the day’s 4 miles; a beautiful summer day on Narragansett Bay – 80, sunny, brisk breeze from the south. And the run was good.
I’m not back to the point where I was before San Antonio – runner’s high setting in at about 2 miles in, but I think I’m starting to get sniffs again. There’s something different about this cycle – it’s been just harder to get going. I don’t know if that’s because I have been better this time about sticking to the schedule, or if I didn’t take a long enough recovery period after Mooseman. Regardless, it’s 2 months to New York, and I think I’ll make it.
So, that’s it, except for this: Nate (youngest) comes downstairs early this morning, all sorts of excited. “Daddy, where’s Mommy?”
“She’s out running, why?”
“I wanted to show her the turkeys in the backyard cleaning up the mess at the birdfeeder.”
Man, I love those kids.
The title of this post had me thinking of digestive distress brought on by the end of the summer – thank goodness it had to do with running, and not with the loo!