I kicked my own ass. For those who're counting, my marathon is 15 days away. And so, in final preparation, I plugged in one last 20-mile run yesterday.
Dammit, 20 miles is far.
It was a beautiful day - cloudless, mild. Unfortunately, I wanted to die at about mile 3.4. True story. I just felt cashed. My body wanted to hurl me into oncoming traffic. The night before I did some weight-lifting that also kicked my ass, and my muscles were not quite ready for this idea.
Good thing my muscles don't get an opinion. So I kept going. I did two 10-mile loops, the second of which seemed interestingly more pleasant.
It'll probably be my last multiple-hour excursion along the lakefront I've grown so fond of this summer, so I'm glad it was a good one. I even came away with a mild sun tan. In October. Fabulous.
My body's doing alright this morning. Usual soreness, but otherwise it's good to go. Of course, I won't actually be going anywhere because I intend to be a lazy pile for the next 29 hours.
I got home yesterday afternoon and chugged chocolate milk (which I hear is the perfect recovery drink), iced my shins (preemptive measure), foam rolled (ahhhh...) and basked in post-run glory.
Hopefully I have that same glory again after marathon No. 4.