Jesus, Joseph, Mary, and The Fresh Prince of Bel Air.
I ran this race yet again, today, and my legs are really very, very pissed off right now. Took me about ten minutes just to lower myself into the bathtub once I got home.
I'll write a proper wrap-up once my shoulders stop hurting from typing at the keyboard. Yeah, it's that bad.
But the race went relatively well, five hours and fifty-seven minutes of slap-slap-slap on the pavement of Central Park. A downpour during Lap Three was peachy, too.
So I'm NOT running tomorrow, I thought about a 4-mile race, and that's just a sign of mental illness. Like running a 60K isn't?