Last week's cross-country trip to Portland, Oregon was filled with an overwhelming quantity of good food, a copious volume of Oregon microbrews and Pinot Noir, and three runs (two fast, one easy) within 48 hours. Despite my initial hesitations, it turned out to be a great trip filled with many good laughs. (Favourite trip moment: returning to the hotel at 6:30 pm after a five mile run with a coworker along the Portland waterfront to find a free tasting of Oregon microbrews being served up in the lobby.) Unfortunately, by the time I returned to New York on Friday evening, I was stuffed, jet lagged, and hungover (not necessarily in that order).
When I awoke on Saturday morning, my strong cup of coffee did absolutely nothing to perk me up. And while the first six miles of my Saturday morning 13 miler were not exactly painful, I felt as though I was outside of my body and somehow unconnected to my legs. I was running in a daze. By about mile seven, though, things seemed to come together, and I don't think it was just the effect of my chocolate Power Gel 10 minutes earlier. I finished the 13 miles feeling suitably exhausted and entirely pleased. Twenty minutes later, I was showered, cozy, eating Zdenek's blueberry pancakes, and reading the NY Times.
By plane, train, automobile, and foot, I covered over 5000 miles in four days, and yet it was only the last 13 that really counted. Running has a way of making everything right again.
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