wow

that was, quite simply, the best run of my short running career.

after a week-long sickness break, i was back on the asphalt.

i was tired as hell with a still-full belly from last night's too-big dinner and this morning's too-little... never mind.

so, i'm out on the street. and i'm flying. lighter than air. soaring above the pavement. i went up new streets and ran up hills instead of avoiding them. even the scary ones felt small. my knees were way up, none of this old fart shuffling stuff.

i never did get the soreness in my arches and shins that usually signals the end of my run. at about the 27:00 mark, i'm in the home stretch. how about a sprint of sorts, huh?

so my legs go on auto-pilot. i dunno how else to describe it, it's an incredible feeling. i'm not running, my legs are just spinning. knees way the hell up, huge strides.

so i'm sailing down the road, and what do i feel?

my breakfast and dinner on its way back up. oh man. i stopped 2 strides short of the finish spot, at 28:something, 2 minutes less than i wanted. but i didn't hurl.

that was the closest i've ever come to puking while running, and almost as close as i've come while lifting. what an unpleasant way to end an awesome run.

ugh.