I did it.
And honestly? Gazelleish. Most of it, that is. Miles 10-14 were pretty rough and rather painful. But when I hit fourteen (after not making fourteen 3 weeks ago) and knew I only had three left, I was good to go. Soooo happy.
After the run, four of us walked out into the ocean to chill our legs—miraculous, I tell you. We were flush with our success, as well, so we were four happy gals out there in the waves.
I canNOT believe I ran that far. Wacky, crazy stuff. Shit, this proves if I can run seventeen miles, anyone can. I don’t run. I don’t exercise. I’m a thirty-two year old ex-smoker with weak lungs (anyone remember me having pneumonia about six months ago?). You can do it. If you were out of your mind enough to want to, that is.
And after the beach, I went home, scraped the sand out from the blisters and from under my lifting toenails, took a good long shower, put clothes on, and went back out to meet Ghet, my realtor. We looked at four or five places, and wrote an offer on one. I’m zenning the house-search, by they way. What will be, will be. (The unit number of the one I wrote is 111, though. Hmmm.) I’m meant to be where I’m meant to be. That’s all I know. And I know if it’s less than seventeen miles away, I could run there. Well, tonight I couldn’t. Tonight I think I’m a wee bit too tired to do it again. Maybe tomorrow.
Recap: I ran for four hours and fifteen minutes. I made an offer on a condo. Now I’m off to work for a few hours. It’s been a really fucking busy day. I’m going to sleep GREAT tonight.
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