I may or may not be living later this afternoon.

But since I'm alive at the moment...

FIFTEEN MILES.

Two hours, fifty-one minutes, two seconds. 28,020 steps. 1,285 calories. That is, by a full three miles, the farthest I have ever run in my life.

And I was alone for the last 4.5 miles. My running buddies turned around at about 10.5.

I'm not saying it wasn't incredibly painful. I'm not saying that my mind didn't completely lose all capacity for rational thought after 11 miles or so. I'm not saying that it wasn't one of the hardest things I have ever put my body through (though, oddly, I think the 12-miler two weeks ago was harder).

But right now I'm feeling pretty damned good.

Fifteen miles. Fuck yes.

(And the half is only 13.1. I've got this bitch!)

Everybody's running, and no one makes a move...

Three point six in thirty-seven thirty-seven. (Hey, I broke 150!)

And now...I REST.

This Saturday, I will be doing the final long-long run before the half. Fourteen miles. Gulp.

The following Saturday we'll do six and the Saturday after that, I run the damned thing.

Getting close now...

That's what I'm talking about.

It had to happen at some point but it took longer than usual this year and I was getting spoiled! I'm talking about the weather, of course. For the first time this season, I had to break out my long pants to run tonight. It's in the 40s. And it started sprinkling on me during my last lap.

NONETHELESS, the run was a success. And whew! Because the last time I ran on that track was last Wednesday, when everything was horrible and I thought perhaps I'd lost my ability to run altogether. There's a certain psychological difficulty in going back to a place where you had a really dismal run, you know, but it worked out greatly because I was kind of awesome this evening (even with the stupidly cold wind and stupidly cold rain drops!).

4.5 miles in 48:57.

By the by, the subject line is in reference to the run itself, and not the weather. Otherwise that just wouldn't make a lot of sense.