Oh, the joy of reaching 21. No, not that falling-down-drunk kind of milestone. This was a falling-down-in-the-grass, wu-hoo-we-did-it, Pink Lemonade Cytomax punch drunk after finishing our long run.
Gayla and I set out to do 21 miles this morning. It was probably the hottest Sunday of the year so far. We started out in the dark to avoid the heat. Mist rose up off the water and the archery field.
We weren’t sure if we’d be able to do it. She had a cold a week ago. I’ve had a ton of stress on all fronts. (Hence, the Doris Day Off last week.) Above all else, we just wanted to play it safe. It wasn’t a race. Just a daunting training day that had been staring us in the face since April. We figured we could always walk. By mile 19.75, we did just that until we reached the car. And that’s when my GPS clocked 22.