The most amazing thing happened three weeks ago. My friend Katie and I ran the San Diego Half Marathon, an absolutely amazing course that starts outside Petco Park, weaves along the bay and stays flat for eight miles before climbing into Hillcrest and finishing alongside Balboa Park with a sweet downhill sprint that almost makes you feel like you haven’t just run 13.1 miles.
With little in the way of pace expectations, we demolished our previous PRs, crossing the finish line under gorgeous SoCal sunshine in 1:52:09. To say I was psyched would be an understatement; I was honestly a little incredulous. But then something bizarre happened: I wasn’t sore. Usually, the morning after a race I swing my legs over the side of the bed and catalogue a full list of aches and pains as I stumble to the bathroom. But the morning after San Diego I stood up and … huh, that’s weird … I feel … good?
Funny what putting in some mileage will do for you.
Today, marks exactly four months and one day since I started the run streak that would become my 1000-mile year challenge. I both can’t believe how far I’ve come and how far I still have to go.
A few weeks ago, after Steph and I finished a fun 7-miler on McCullough Hills Trail in Henderson (which I hear Scott Jurek ran recently and enjoyed, no big deal), we stood in the parking lot and mused on the possibility that we might actually finish this thing. 1000 miles. One year. I told her I want to make T-shirts if we do. How does one celebrate accomplishing something that seemed virtually impossible when they started it?