It was all going so well. I baked not one but two batches of brownies. Pumpkin brownies and an attempt at smore’s brownies. They were both utterly delish. The marshmallows in the smore’s version melted away leaving behind a ghostly delicious chewiness.
Yesterday was my long run. Weather was good: a tad, ok very windy but who am I to complain? The number on the scale has been politely going down (who knew Brownies had that effect?) and I’m enjoying pulling my Fuel Belt a smidge tighter.
I chose a challenging, hilly 13-mile route hard into the wind for the first five miles, all the better to build race-day confidence I thought. It was going well too. All on pace and getting progressively faster. Until it happened.
The haunting. I was clipping along, just wrapping up mile 10 when I felt twinges. That familiar ache that I remember all too well. Return of the angry achilles!
I pulled the plug at 11.44 and walked it in. I rekindled my relationship with my old flames ice, compression socks, Biofreeze and Traumeel. Can I run the marathon in two weeks? I vacillate between feeling hopeful that this will all work out (Chicago is flat after all and I did not push through the pain) and supremely bummed. Where is that crystal ball when I need it?
