Well I'll be damned.

Not only did I run this weekend, but I ran 18 miles on Friday morning. EIGHTEEN!

It felt fantastic. I won't lie and say I didn't dread the task for three days leading up to it, but being out there during the cloudy, Friday morning was perfect. And I know exactly what I've been missing - a running partner.

I met up with Julia, who's training for her first marathon with her husband, and together we smoked those 18 miles in 2 hours and 46 minutes. We averaged 9:16-minute miles, which is ass-kicking. (For us, of course).

It was the first time Julia and I had actually met, so the time passed much more quickly as we clearly had 20-plus years of life and love and marriage and divorce and cancer and training and jobs to catch up on. We stopped a few times to refill our water bottles, refuel and stretch, but I don't think I've ever run an easier 18 miles.

I credit Julia. So, thanks, Julia!

The best part was finishing. Obviously. But when I was done nothing hurt. Not one shin, not one joint. I had no blisters, nothing. MOB and I even went out for a 4-miler last night, and still, no pain.

I feel cured. Free. A new woman.

So, bring it on marathon, you bitch.