My first post-race run

I have to admit it: along about Wednesday, I wondered if I was ever going to feel up to moving faster than a walk after my big race.

I thought about running Saturday, but it was rainy and cloudy.

Sunday morning dawned cool and promising, and I had no more excuses. It was time to lace up my Asics and take my legs out for a spin at last. I was strangely nervous putting on my gear. I made a point of leaving my watch at home--the last thing I needed was a bunch of numbers on my wrist taunting me and/or utterly humiliating me.

I meandered down my driveway and began my normal walking warm-up. The air was cool and clammy and foggy, like an enormous steamed-up bathroom. I had visions of being run over: "Oh, how ironic, her first run out after her race and she gets squashed flat by some BMW driver texting in the fog!"

I walked past the point where I would normally turn and start running. No need to rush this, just take it slow and easy, I thought.

I gave myself an extra minute or two, and then... here goes nothing...I switched oh-so-gently into a second-gear shuffle, just barely faster than a walk.

I am glad to report that there was no sign of my legs falling off or otherwise rendering themselves inoperable. Look, Ma, I'm running! Well, okay, I'm jogging...all right, I'm shuffling. Hey, we can at least agree that I'm not walking!

So how did it feel? It was like meeting a friend you haven't seen in years for coffee and wondering if there are going to be all these awkward pauses in the conversation. The first three or four minutes felt indescribably creaky, but then I loosened up and started to enjoy myself. Somewhat.

After the first half-mile, I felt almost decent. I made it to the one-mile turnaround and started jogging back, still being careful to take my time. The fog was starting to burn off, both from the air and my legs.

About half a mile from the end, I hit the beginning of the long slow uphill that would take me the rest of the way home...and it felt kinda hard.

I slowed to a walk. My breathing was a little heavier than I would have liked, and the effort just felt a little tough. I wasn't in the mood to torture myself, so I walked for forty-five seconds or so, just to catch my breath, and then I started jogging again.

I made it the rest of the way home. One more small victory for the books.