The Body Knows

Until tonight, running recently has been sloppy and frustrating.

After piecing together 15 miles between near-constant thunderstorms last week, I decided to head out for a big 18 miler early Sunday after some good churchin' and a fun Mother's Day celebration Saturday night.

I felt weird from the start of the run. Dori and I think we've had a cold for a few days, and Sunday's blahs were confirmation. Two miles in, I decided 18 miles wasn't a good idea; instead, I trudged through six miles, rounded up the family for nine holes of golf and channel-surfed the rest of the day.

This morning, after 10 hours' sleep, I blew off a planned run. My back hurt and muscles still ached ... No way, Jose, I thought. I arrived home tonight at 7, said hello to the family and headed out for a five miler. I felt revved up from the get-go. What a difference 12 hours makes, I thought. In benign conditions, I went sub 9:00 the first mile and was itching to go fast.

So I accelerated ... 8:30 in mile two and faster each mile. I floored it the last mile, going sub 8:00 with ease. If I had raced, I'm pretty sure I would have PR'd five miles.

Within a span of a day, I've gone from deflation to believing I'm ready for a big race. Still, what the hell was yesterday all about? The body knows, and I'm glad I listened. Hopefully, my body and mind will be in the right place when I undertake 26.2.

Speaking of knowing your body, Lance Armstrong broke his collarbone in March, but is in fifth place in the Tour of Italy. Anyone surprised?