I ended my last post with this:
“I’ve got 8.9 miles to go to meet my 25-mile weekly goal, and IF I feel good in the morning, I might try to do a long lumber somewhere tomorrow and get it done early.”
Saying that I would attempt a 9-mile (minimum) lumber the next morning was a pretty ambitious statement written by a 53-year-old doofus who was still riding the high of his fastest 5-mile “run” ever earlier in the day. But I put it out there, and I somehow felt accountable for making it happen, even though I am the ONLY person in the world who would give a shit.
It seems like yesterday (or six days ago) when I was so overheated and drenched with sweat that I needed to stop by a trailside artesian well to douse myself with water to cool down, and today it was 45˚ when I got feetz on trail as the sun was rising. Shit.
