Lucky 7

There she is, finally. Mile seven seemed to have alluded me this year so far, but I nabbed that bitch with an 8:30 pace. After yesterday's depressing swim meet, I woke up today determined to prove to myself I'm not completely hopeless. I may not be a great swimmer, yet, but I can run. After three pints of water and some cinnamon graham crackers, I was good the entire run. I had a slight running stitch but it lasted a quarter mile. I got to Long Wharf in time for the sunrise, and the morning blow jobs.

Long Wharf is a notorious hookup spot, especially for men. It was my first time down there in the morning and I couldn't believe how many cars were lined up on the overlook spots. I ran passed 15 or so as Eve came on my headphones and my runner's high finally kicked in. It usually kicks in around 3 miles, the scenery helped. I said hi to a Canadian goose, but I think it hissed at me.

When I ran on Olive St I thought about how I should have my friends in the area put out water bottles for me the night before. I can run past like a reverse milk man and get some hydration. Or I can just get a damn Camelback fanny pack and look like the robot runner I am. Amphipod light and Garmin wrist laptop on one arm, iPod Touch on the other, heart rate monitor strap under my sports bra. I'm practically bionic. ...I think about some pretty weird stuff when I'm running.

Anyway, this run is exactly what I needed. Pep talks don't work for me, the only thing that works is proving it to myself.