"He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures."
As with all good writing, I take something different away from it every time I read it, and this year I think the take-away is all about my own unshackling from the tyranny of GPS. It is my personal practice to declare a month of freedom after every marathon: four weeks without worrying about pace or mileage, no planning for the next marathon, no poring over training schedules. I refuse to let myself even look at race calendars during those four weeks, which I will admit gets pretty tough toward the end. (Although, you know, if you want to talk to me about any good races you happen to know about in December, who am I to stop you?) I think that this self-enforced break from the cycle of training is what has kept me madly in love with running marathons for fifteen years. While my body has certainly gone through periods of burn-out and fatigue, my head never has.
At the end of a very tough work day yesterday, I found myself driving along the coast, and pulled over to run a few head-clearing evening miles on the sand. A half hour of unplanned, unstructured, slow, comfortable bliss. This week, a fellow runner put out the call to our Facebook group, inviting anyone to join her for a 4-mile run in Balboa Park this morning. When I read it, my impulse was to think about how those four miles would fit into my schedule for the week: Will we be running too fast or slow? Will I need to tack on some additional mileage, or throw in some hills at the end? With great relief, it occurred to me: it doesn't matter. Four miles at any pace would be great. I'm in. It was a lovely warm morning, and I showed up with absolutely no concern for how or where we ran, and made a new friend. As I was putting on my running clothes this morning, I strapped on my Garmin out of habit, but then checked myself. No need! I took it off, laced up my shoes, and was out the door.
|Check out that naked wrist! In the last two weeks,|
I've even lost my ever-present watch tan.