i run.
that's what i do.
despite what my job title says, despite my undying devotion to baseball, despite my female form worship, i'm first and foremost: a runner.
and i often tell people that, for me, the worst part about running is that eventually, i have to stop.
but what happens between the time i start and the time i stop is a magic time. i never know what's going to happen. sometimes i figure shit out. sometimes i let my imagination flow. sometimes i get really emotional. and sometimes i just fucking play, like a kid, take off and boom. whatever happens happens.
on sunday, i ran 20 miles with a pace group. i wanted to stay with this fast group for the entire jaunt so i spent several days just thinking about it, prior to the run, preparing my mind (and body) for the heavy task i was going to ask of it. and as i crossed the finish line i looked down at my watch and saw that i had been running for 2 hours and 30 minutes.
and i couldn't remember a fucking thing.
was that... was that... what the fuck was that????
my mind totally blanked for two and a half hours! all i remember is following the guy in front of me, and breathing. often. other than those basics, i had not a single thought the entire time! what a fucking trip!
what a fucking awesome, confusing, badass trip!
huzah!!!
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