13 Miles

Day 94.

I’m recovering today. The legs, they worked hard yesterday durning the Bill Seymour Half Marathon. Today, they feel like stiff, stale jello.

But, oh, how they worked yesterday.

I was eager to start the race — four horrible dreams Friday night kept me from getting much sleep (Including one where I showed up two minutes late, wearing my mowing shoes, jean shorts and none of my running stuff).

When we got to the start, I was paired up with my new pal Larry. Larry and I decided to run similar to how we ran the 10 mile warmup last week. I was amazed at all the people in the mob. We took off from Fonner Park and all the training, all the worrying, all the work … it was over. Now was the real deal.

We started off at a good pace. We discussed the Huskers game, the weather and even, a little bit, the run. As we crossed the first mile, I went to check the time and realized after practicing with my stop watch all during training, I hit the wrong button at the start. I hadn’t timed anything. I started it at this point. Someone around us said the first mile was at 8:40. Larry said he had it at closer to 9:15.

From there, it was a ride for a while. Larry and I made it at our pace as others couldn’t keep their own. We weren’t going to win, or place, but we were going to finish.

When we made it to Suck’s Lake, at mile 3, I was really hoping to see some of my fan club. And finally, as we approached Harrison, my parents, my in-laws, my wife and my boys were waiting. With signs. And cheers. That was cool. It was awesome to have people cheering.

And it was awesome to have so many people, period. Even if they were cheering for someone else, they were cheering for us. A photographer on a bike must have cheered me on half a dozen different places. That was great.

We ran into the Jack Sheard Fan Club again at College Park, just after mile 5 and seeing the race leaders coming back at us. This put the fast runners about three miles ahead of us. I don’t know our exact time, but Larry and I were putting it at about 9:30 a mile still. And going strong.

After passing my family, we moved over to Highway 34, where we were stopped. This was bad. I had to run in place, and it really broke my rhythm. Across the way, despite a helpful police officer holding a stop sign to the runners, a guy said something along the lines of “they’ll stop for us, just go!” And he lead a group of runners into traffic. Not wanting to waste his heroic effort, we decided to cross at the same time from the other side. It was better than waiting. But the damage was done. I struggled for awhile on the way down to the turnaround near Hall County Park, into the wind.

But Larry and I stuck together. When we reached the half-way point, we were at one hour, two minutes. We agreed we were moving pretty good. But …

But I was starting to lose it. I tried hard to keep a good pace, but I was struggling. I told Larry if he needed to stop carrying me, he needed to go on ahead. We stayed together for a while, but shortly after another visit with the fan club, when we hit the 8 mile mark, I told him to go. And he did.

I slowed significantly. But I still felt fine. As the miles ticked off, I started thinking about different things.

Am I going to finish? Well, I better. I better make it back. I got up many days this summer earlier than I wanted to. Earlier than was healthy. To run. To bike. To stretch sore, tired muscles. To train. So, yeah, I was going to finish.

Am I going to catch that guy in front of me that looks like he’s hardly moving, but I’m not getting much closer? And, along those lines, am I going to get a decent finishing time?

I finally passed the guy, and looked at my watch. We had about two miles to go. My math, my wife told me later, probably slowed me down.

I was trying to figure out where I would finish if I averaged 10 minute miles to the end. I had to add nine minutes to my watch time, because that’s what I missed on the first mile. Better make it nine and a half to be safe. And at three miles to go I had checked it and figured I was going to be over 2:15. Wait, that doesn’t make sense. How can that be? Now when I do the math I’m looking at … carry the one, subtract … wait, there’s only 60 seconds in a minute, not 100. Back up. Add this to that, better make it 10 minutes to be really safe, and give myself a cushion. So … if I finish 20 minutes from now …

I can still make it at possibly 2:05. Or at least 2:10. Better pick it up.

And I did. In my own way.

I had told Larry much earlier in the run (like an hour and half ago) that I would probably try to start my kick when I turned onto Cherry at the end. That would be a mile and a half.

Larry wasn’t with me, so I didn’t need to do something so silly. When I made the turn, I passed another runner or two. I was happy that I had only been passed by four or five runners to this point. I hadn’t died off entirely. That made me feel good.

But I didn’t kick it in yet. I just kept running as smoothe as I could.

I felt myself start to fade, just as I was going through the short chutes of Sunset. Ironic street to travel, Sunset. The sun was getting higher, but the adventure was nearing it’s end. I could feel the end. I was worried it was going to come a little earlier than I planned. But as I turned onto the final stretch …

I could hear the cheering over the buzz of my iPod. I turned my iPod off. Nothing on it would help me now. Regardless of what songs I thought would help carry me to the end, music had nothing on the roar of a crowd a quarter mile away.

I could see them shortly after I heard them. Then I started my own internal chorus (or out loud, actually, but nobody could hear me, so let’s keep it our little secret that I was talking to myself out loud).

“You’re not going to quit. You’re going to finish. You’re going to finish. You’re going to finish. … What does that clock say?”

My eyes focused on a clock, and it looked to say 2:0-something. Could I still beat 2:10?

Someone cheered, “Go Jack”. I risked a glance and saw my boys. I was going to finish. With style.

Another runner, a lady, was closing in on me. As we reached the finish I looked at her and said, “Come on, let’s go!” and we ran faster and faster as we reached the chute.

I heard more cheers, the roar, and my own chant ….

“I’m going to do it … I’m going to do it … I’m going to do it … “

93 days ago, I couldn’t make it around Suck’s Lake. I thought I was a bit crazy. I died after a quarter mile. I couldn’t make it up a slight incline. I was mocked by geese. 13.1 miles? I’m not sure I could drive it after that first attempt.

“I’m going to do it … I’m going to do it … I’m going to do it …”

At one point in my training, I was feeling proud of myself. I had recovered from my leg pains, and was back to running. I ran into Amy at the YMCA one afternoon and told her I was excited: I was planning to attempt 4 mile that coming weekend. She looked at me oddly, as if to say, ‘that’s all? You’re in trouble, you’re behind.’ And I was. I looked at the training schedule and realized I was two miles behind. I should have been running four miles twice a week at that point. How was I going to finish this training on time? How would I be ready?

“I’m going to do it … I’m going to do it … I’m going to do it … “

A week ago, I ran ten miles. I weighed in at 32 pounds less than I had been when I started. I had achieved so many personal goals along the way. My wife was inspired enough to start an exercise routine she’s kept up. I feel better about myself. I’ve accomplished something I didn’t think I could. But there was a goal ahead. Friday evening, some co-workers told me how proud I should be of myself for sticking with this, losing the weight and running so far. I told them I’d be proud of myself at about 10:15 Saturday morning.

“I’m going to finish … I’m going to finish … I’m …”

“I did it. I, I did it. I did it? Didn’t I? I did.”

I passed through the chute, raised a hand in the air and looked at the people taking the tags off my number. I didn’t understand at first. What were they doing? Then it came to me, they put a ribbon around my kneck, and a group of people started yelling my name.

Co-workers, family, friends started approaching me. I looked at them and smiled … or tried to smile. I was beaten, but not beat. I did it.

My kids game me hugs. I slapped high fives. The number above my head as I passed under the chute said 2:08.

It didn’t matter how worn out I was at this point, my math worked well enough to know 2:08 was less than 2:10, meaning I averaged less than 10 minutes a mile. I think about 9:51 in the end. Which was one of the goals along the way.

But the main goal, the whole point of this whole thing, was to finish 13.1 miles. And I did it.

I wouldn’t have done it without those co-workers who asked every day for the last 93 how the running was going. It would not have been possible without other runners inspiring me.

Amy and Venus and Becky and the Grand Island Runners Club who run this town were great. Amy put on a great half-marathon, and was there to give me a hug after I finished, even though she was busy working her but off.

Larry is my new hero. I was impressed with myself for being 30 and doing this for the first time. Larry shocked me during today’s run and told me his is 50. He’s a fit fifty. And, he finished in 2:02, which gave him a negative split. Which is good. Way to go Larry.

My parents and in-laws, my wife and my kids also gave me so much support throughout this adventure, it was great to have them cheering me on at the end, but they were cheering me on the entire way … starting in May.

And all the people who read this blog for the past 93 days, left messages, advice, encouragement … you’re probably the main reason I kept this up. Even if you weren’t actually reading, I just let myself assume you were. And I was on the hook. You wouldn’t have been happy had I quit. I built you up as some older brother that would whip me if I quit. So, thanks; I’m glad you didn’t whip me.

And dang it! I did it.

I just can’t walk down a set of stairs today.

Stay tuned for the next adventure, whatever it will be.

Day 93.

I did it.

That’s all I really want to say today. I did it. It took me 2 hours, 8 minutes to finish the Bill Seymour Half-Marathon today. I did it. It was great. I’ll give more details later.

But I did it today.

Day 92.

Tomorrow.

After 92 days of thinking about this run and if it is even possible, the thinking ends tomorrow.

At 8 a.m.

Of course, some would tell you the thinking must have stopped somewhere around day one. Or two at the latest.

Run? For fun? That’s insane.

But I’ve learned a lot from this 92-day experience. I’ve learned a lot about endurance, running, myself, runners and what you can and can’t do.

Mainly, I’ve realized I can probably maybe potentially run 13.1 miles tomorrow.

It took a lot of lessons.

I had to tell myself to get up early enough to run on day one.

Then I had to tell myself I should probably walk, on day one.

I had to tell myself to run faster when I was going too slow. I had to tell myself to slow down when my legs couldn’t take the pain. I had to tell myself to get back out there after a doctor told me to stop being a wimp and stop worrying so much. And to stretch.

I had to tell myself to charge the iPod battery so it doesn’t die during a run. I had to tell myself slow music is for dancing, not running.

I had to tell myself to keep going, it’s only one more mile, one more turn, one more block, one more …

One more night’s sleep before 13.1 miles. See you at the finish line.

Day 90.

Ah, life. It’s just grand, isn’t it?

A few weeks ago, a photographer I work with, Scott, told me he and his fiance decided to start running. He told me each day how much he’d done. It was simple at first, a long walk, try to jog a bit. He worked his way up to running a mile, walking, then running another mile.

Each step along the way, Scott told me about his progress. He also told me how bad his legs felt. He wanted some advice.

I tried to give him some that was accurate while trying not to sound wise on the subject. I have been running for 90 days, but that doesn’t make me a runner, not yet. But I did tell him those aches and pains and sore muscles are part of the process. They’ll go away once your body is accustom to moving in these mysterious ways.

Then, heck if the funniest thing didn’t happen. Mr. 90 Days Running felt some aches and pains and sore muscles he hadn’t for a while.

I can’t walk down steps with an armful of laundry. I lean on the railing to walk off my porch. I hobble across parking lots, dreading the walk that can’t be more than 30 yards.

And I want to run 13.1 miles on Saturday.

A while ago I wrote that it doesn’t matter what the goal is, it gets hardest when it’s within reach. Today it’s within reach.

I told Scott not to worry, to keep at it.

Thanks for the advice, Scott.

Day 89.

Or should I say, night 89.

For the first time in these 89 crazy days, and with only four days until the big 13, I ran at night.

I can’t explain why. I just did it. Like the first time I decided to run from the porch and just do it, I just decided I was going to get ready and go. I left the house, did a nice three mile run and felt good about it.

Night, in case you were wondering, is different than day. Or morning. When I run in the morning, I see two or three people on the trail. Granted, it is between 5:30 and 7:00 a.m. when I do this, but still, hardly anybody runs into me. Tonight, I ran from 7:45 to 8:15 p.m. There were two or three people … on every block. In every direction.

I was beginning to think I was the only one running in Grand Island (except those cool cats that came out Saturday morning, that is). Boy was I wrong. People running, people walking, people biking. People walking dogs. Dogs walking people. Kids. Teenagers. Seniors. Young, trim and fit exercise freaks like myself. All types come out in the evening.

But I still like the morning.

In the morning, it’s a fresh start. I have a clean pallette. Nothing has cluttered my mind and soul. I can get ready and go and not even think about it. It’s a simple thing, but I especially like it when the moon is out when I start. I’ve just started realizing this, but there is something cool about it. Soothing. Relaxing.

This evening’s run was a good run. For those of you who know what it means, I was seven seconds off a negative split. I learned that Saturday with the real runners. I ran three miles tonight, 27 minutes, 37 seconds. I felt good. My calves aren’t exactly on speaking terms with me again yet, but I think they’ll come around for this Saturday.

When we run in the morning.

Day 88.

LEFT CALF: I know most of you are expecting to read Jack Sheard’s blog here. But today, things have changed.

RIGHT CALF: Yeah, that’s right. We’re going to write this precious little diary.

RIGHT SHIN: He is so cocky. Did you hear him the other day?

RIGHT CALF: Yeah, I heard that. He was braggin’ about how he ran 10 miles. ‘I did so great. It was awesome. Blah, blah blah.’

LEFT FOOT: He doesn’t mention us at all. No word about us in leg land. I mean, look what he called this entry: ‘Blame it on my legs: The worst run ever.’ Ouch.

LEFT THIGH: That’s so true. No ‘And I owe it all to my thighs. Especially my left one.’ Or anything.

RIGHT CALF: He hardly even stretched before he left for that 10 miler. Then, he has the nerve to give hardly an effort to stretch when he got back. What a punk.

LEFT HAND: Yeah, and he treats me like an off hand!

RIGHT FOOT: Who brought Left Hand?

LEFT FOOT: I told him he could come, he was carrying treats. Left Hand, no more talking.

RIGHT FOOT: Anyway. I can’t believe what we had to do yesterday: He made us stand around for four hours while he blew his little whistle. ‘Refereeing’ is what he calls it. I call it a big pain.

RIGHT SHIN: Another thing about that 10 mile run: I heard him tell somebody while he was running this little ditty: ‘The thing I don’t like about running is I can’t just get up and run. I’ve got to tape my toes, take some ibuprofin for my knees, stretch so much … all before I can do anything. I wish I could just get up and go.’

LEFT CALF: I heard that too! Man, he would be nothin’ without us.

RIGHT CALF: That’s why we spoke up this morning.

LEFT SHIN: Awww yeah! That’s right. We put him in his place.

LEFT CALF: He stretched us out a little, then when he started, we started yelling at him and we decided we weren’t gonna play nice.

RIGHT CALF: Left Calf and I, we kept at it. He stopped and stretched us out AGAIN, like a block from his house. It was great. But we didn’t stop.

LEFT CALF: Did you all see the way he was running? He looked like one of those speed walkers. Ha!

LEFT FOOT: Awesome. But did he stop?

RIGHT CALF: Nope. He doesn’t learn does he? He stopped again, short of two miles and started WALKING! Then he started running again, the fool. Later, I actually heard him say, ‘I don’t feel anything. Do you feel anything? Nope.’

LEFT KNEE: Ha, ha, ha. I heard that. That’s when we spoke up.

RIGHT KNEE: BOOOOOOM! Ha, ha, ha. He felt that.

LEFT KNEE: Yup, he did. He stopped running at that point. We walked the rest of the way home. Ha, ha, ha.

RIGHT KNEE: He seems to listen to us.

LEFT FOOT: And now he’s icing you. Huh.

LEFT CALF: He’ll start taking care of us, too, if he knows what’s good for him.

RIGHT CALF: I’m not sure he has any clue, though. We got home, and he almost jumped in the shower without stretching us out again! This guy is braindead!

BRAIN: Don’t blame this on me. He’s running mile after mile after mile. He ain’t using me at all.

RIGHT FOOT: That’s true. That’s true.

LEFT CALF: Let’s just hope he learned his lesson about running without stretching.

RIGHT CALF: And for all you people reading this, if you see him at the half-marathon Saturday doubled over in pain or running like he’s on cross-country skis, you’ll know we still haven’t forgiven him.

Day 86.

A few weeks ago, I thought it would be cool to invite people who are looking to run the half-marathon to get together for a ten mile run the week before. You know, get five or six people together, kind of get a feel for running with other people, just on a small scale. I really was hoping to get to run with someone else just to know what it would feel like. And since the training called for a ten mile run, that’s something that I needed a little extra push to be ready for.

So imagine my surprise when I pulled into the Fonner Park parking lot to see a couple dozen runners getting ready to go. How awesome.

And what a difference a crowd makes. I haven’t run without music — other than the day my iPod died –since the first week or so of training. As I tucked my ear plugs into my headband and got my setup set up, I saw a few others get theres ready, but most people weren’t listening to music. They were, of all things, talking.

How long would this last? We started running as a big pack, but that wouldn’t last long. I ‘partnered up’ with a fellow named Larry. We did the talking thing, too. But only for a mile or so. Then another mile or so. Then Mark, who showed up late, caught up to us. Then we talked with Rachel and another guy, I missed his name.

As we approached the turnaround point — we decided to go five miles out, then come back, instead of going all the way to the 6.55 mid-point and have to walk three miles when we were done — those ahead of us met us on their way back. And they weren’t all that far ahead of us – maybe a minute or two or so. They all had encouraging things to say.

We turned and came back — still talking. It was very enjoyable. We broke up a bit, added another runner, Dan, and stuck it out at a good pace all the way to the final turn. Mark sprinted like ‘Lightning’ Bolt to the finish. I tried, then died, then kept going. Larry found his kick and finished with Mark; Dan made it to the finish, then turned to run some more (he showed up late and met us in the middle) and I made it in 95 minutes.

And no iPod needed. That’s a first. So is the 9:30 pace for that long. And running in the group made it even better. Not easier, just smoother.

It was possibly the most fun I’ve had running yet. I have to give a big thank you to Becky, Venus and the rest of the runners club that came out and the others that were there. You guys are awesome. I’m more prepared for next week than ever, and more excited too.

And Amy told us there are over 300 people signed up for the Bill Seymour, so we’ll have a few more friends. I’ll still bring the iPod, just in case.

WEIGHT UPDATE: I weighed in yesterday at one pound less than last Friday. So I’m officially 28 pounds down for the 86 days. I can live with that.

See you next week!

Day 83.

Wow! We are getting close. I ran a fast four miler today, getting ready for Saturday’s 10 miler. I ran faster today than I have yet, doing the four miles in 37:09, or about 9:17 per mile. I’m sure I can’t keep that pace much longer than four miles, but I’m glad I got that far with it. I felt like I could have gone farther, but didn’t have much time.

When it comes to the education system, I get angry when hearing about students being taught for the test. Students should be taught what they need, not just what they’ll be tested on. It is unfortunate that life experiences and practical uses aren’t as important as a score on a one-time examination on paper.

For some odd reason, though, I’m teaching myself for the test.

When I began this little zig into running, I was given advice about where to run: Vary it up. Don’t run the same route everyday — you’ll get tired of it.

So when I began, I ran different routes. I biked different areas. I ran all over town.

Then I stumbled on the route for the Bill Seymour. No more different routes. Just different directions.

I live about a block off the route, near the middle of the stretch. I can run one direction about three miles and back, I can run the other about four and back. I can run different distances I’ve figured out in either direction. But always on the Bill Seymour path.

Because I’m teaching myself for the test. Other runners may grow tired of this, but I’m liking it. The four miles I ran this morning was so natural down to College Park and back, and didn’t feel like a very long stretch. One long distance going south on the trail to College Park has always felt like a half-marathon in itself, but not so much today. Even with the moon offering the only light on the path I felt comfortable.

The dilemma? What happens if I want to run a different route after the Bill Seymour has come and gone? What if I want to run north? What if I want to run in another town? Will my efforts in training have been wasted, only training for this run? Only learning the answers for this test?

Yeah, I doubt it too. But it does give me another excuse for the future. We’ll see.

NOTE TO MY RUNNING FRIENDS: Remember, I’ll be out at Fonner Park at 7 a.m. Saturday if anyone would like to join me for the ten mile warm-up for next Saturday. We’ll run the route, so you can start cramming in your own studying for the test. I’ll have some questions for you if you show up, mainly this: Do we run this ten miles like we’d run the 13, or do we take it a little easier, or faster or what?

See you there.

Day 81.

This is really fine tuning time. I’m really only running now to polish my look, make sure my shoes shine well throughout the course and most of all, see to it that my head band is visible from any location fans will be sitting cheering me on.

Yeah, right.

I ran five miles today. It took me 47 minutes 59 seconds. There was nothing pretty or fine-tuned about it. It is quite funny to me everytime I think I’m in good shape so I take on something new, and I’m wrong. My legs were hurting today, but not from running.

Sunday I had my first day of referring for the Grand Island Parks and Rec Adult Flag Football league. I did four games. I was on my feet, running a little hear and there, walking some, standing a lot, soaking up the sun, feeling the cool breeze, sweating a bit … for four and a half hours total. I’m in running shape, but not necessarily standing shape. My shins, calves, thigh, knees, ankles and feet all were sore today, so any running was an accomplishment.

But I looked good in stripes. Maybe I’ll run the Bill Seymour in the official stripes shirt.

LATE WEIGHT UPDATE: I forgot to mention Friday it was weigh in day. A bad day. For the first time I didn’t lose weight. I maintained and didn’t gain, but I didn’t lose. Then, I stepped on the scale again right after my 9 mile run Saturday. I was down three pounds. I like weighing in right after a long run. I always seem to be the lightest after those runs. I won’t count this weigh-in because it’s not on the official Friday weigh-in schedule. But I know I’m down 30 pounds.

Day 79.

ATTENTION AUDIENCE: The parts of “self” and “runner” will once again be played by Jack Sheard today.

SELF: So, you still think you can do this running thing?

RUNNER: Yup. I still do. You still think I can’t?

SELF: I’ve had my doubts. But I gotta tell ya, you’re beginning to win me over.

RUNNER: Big test today.

SELF: How far are we going?

RUNNER: Nine big ones.

SELF: Wow. Really? Nine miles? How far have you gone at once before?

RUNNER: I did eight miles two weeks ago. I ran that in one hour, 26 minutes and 41 seconds.

SELF: That’s almost an hour and a half. I didn’t know it was humanly — or at least Jack-ly — possible to run for an hour and a half straight. What’s the goal for today?

RUNNER: I’d like to do it in about 10 minutes a mile. That’s be …

SELF: I know, 90 minutes. Geez. I know you’re the runner, but I can still do math.

RUNNER: Sorry. But in all reality, I’d like to finish in less than one hour, forty minutes.

SELF: Let’s go, runnerboy. Where are we going, by the way?

RUNNER: We’re gonna go toward Hall County Park to the Bill Seymour turnaround point, then back to the other end of the trail, then back almost all the way to home.

SELF: Does that sound like more than it is, or is it more than it sounds like?

RUNNER: Good question. I think knowing where the five mile mark is will help.

SELF: Now that we’re running, I have a few more questions, if you don’t mind.

RUNNER: No problem. I love talking to my Self.

SELF: What’s the point?

RUNNER: In talking to myself?

SELF: No. What’s the point with the running nine miles?

RUNNER: I’m pushing myself. And preparing for the 13 miles. It’s only two weeks away.

SELF: OK, but once again, after 79 days, I gotta know if it’s been worth it to run this much.

RUNNER: Do you like your toes?

SELF: Huh?

RUNNER: Do you like your toes? I assume you know they are there, right?

SELF: Yeah, I know they are there.

RUNNER: So, do you like being able to see them?

SELF: I thought I was the one asking questions.

RUNNER: Sorry, but you see my point? I can see my toes again. That’s something I couldn’t do without really bending over 79 days ago.

SELF: OK, I get it. But are you still enjoying the running?

RUNNER: This is the turn around point coming up.

SELF: You aren’t enjoying it after this?

RUNNER: No, this is where we turn around. I still enjoy it.

SELF: Oh. But … ?

RUNNER: But nothing. I admit, the night before a run is filled with a bit of anticipation.

SELF: Anticipation or dread?

RUNNNER: A bit of both, we’ll say.

SELF: How are you sleeping?

RUNNER: Better. Much better. You see, I can get to sleep much faster the nights after I run. I’m tired. But not during the day. I’ve got more energy.

SELF: But do you look forward to it?

RUNNER: I’m looking forward right now. We’re coming up on the five mile mark.

SELF: What’s the time?

RUNNER: 47 minutes, so far.

SELF: That’s better than you expected, isn’t it?

RUNNER: Yup. I ran 4 and a half Thursday in 43 minutes. So I’m not far off that pace.

SELF: You may be able to do that 90 minutes thing.

RUNNER: We’ll see. I think I can.

SELF: “I think I can. I think I can.” You think that thinking stuff works?

RUNNER: I think it does. If I didn’t think I could do this, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t get too far.

SELF: We’re really moving now. This lake over here, Suck’s Lake. Didn’t you struggle with that one?

RUNNER: Back on day one. I couldn’t make it around the lake without stopping. But you gotta start somewhere.

SELF: And now look at you. You’re making me so proud. You could go around that lake like 18 times.

RUNNER: Let’s not get crazy.

SELF: I believe I asked if you were enjoying this?

RUNNER: I am. I don’t know if I enjoy the first fifteen minutes of a run. Getting up to speed is tough. And telling myself I’m at the right pace for a long distance isn’t exactly my forte.

SELF: You’ll be fine. Any more goals we should discuss?

RUNNER: Well, originally I thought I’d like to finish the 13.1 miles in 2 hours, 40 minutes.

SELF: Now?

RUNNER: I picked up the entry form from the YMCA. It has the all time records for men and for women. You get 500 bucks for setting the record.

SELF: Wow. What’s the record for men?

RUNNER: One hour and eight minutes.

SELF: Uh …

RUNNER: I know.

SELF: So … what’s that? Your new goal?

RUNNER: HA! Nope. I’d like to do twice that. Two hours, 20 minutes.

SELF: Is that do-able?

RUNNER: I’m beginning to think so. We’re reaching the end of the trail again. Time to turnaround.

SELF: Time?

RUNNER: If I kick it in, I can go under 90 minutes still. We slowed up a bit this last stretch. Time to go faster.

SELF: Think you can?

RUNNER: I think I can.

SELF: So, one more question, then I’ll let you go.

RUNNER: Go ahead.

SELF: Are you excited for the 13 miler, or are you worried or sad it’ll be over or just want it to be over or what?

RUNNER: I don’t know. I’m excited to have it be here. I’m worried I might not be quite ready, but I’m pretty sure I will be. I’m doing better on this nine mile run than I expected I would yesterday. I’m excited to see my wife and kids and parents along the trail cheering. I think about that a lot. The cheering thing will be neat. I’m not too sad, however, that the whole thing will be over. I’m looking forward to taking the pressure off of having to run so far so often and follow the schedule.

SELF: Getting close to the end.

RUNNER: If we make the rest of the way … really fast … we can do it.

SELF: We?

RUNNER: We’re in it together, now.

SELF: I think I can.

RUNNER: I think I can, too.

SELF: Almost there.

RUNNER: Done.

SELF: Time?

RUNNER: One hour, 27 minutes, 47 seconds.

SELF: Wow. That’s only 1 minute six seconds longer than your eight miler.

RUNNER: I think I can.