Ecstasy

It's yellow, you Reston bastards, so you'll NEVER KNOW.

WEATHER: FAN-FLIPPING-TABULOUS

MILES: Ohhh…ummmmm….FIFTY.

MILES THIS WEEK: BLAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

WHERE TO: Beyond the realm of mere mortals, to the place where only gods dare tread.

(By which I mean Boonesboro, MD, to Williamsport, MD)

MOOD: BLAMMO!

ADDITIONAL NOTES:

As I type this, I am experiencing a level of leg-and-foot discomfort like I have never known before.

And yet.  I feel the need to let you know that…

I AM A BEAUTIFUL ANIMAL!  I AM A GOLDEN GOD!  I AM THE PERSONIFICATION OF ALL THAT IS RIGHT WITH HUMANITY!

I took the JFK 50-Miler and I smacked it upside the head and told it to LISTEN TO ME or I would take it out to the back 40 and give it something to REALLY cry about.

I told the Appalachian Trail and the C&O Trail and the various country roads outside of Williamsport that they were MY bitches now, and I took them back to my room for some firm but tender loving.

I paid no respect to my fellow runners.  I looked at them, scoffed, took their sisters out on cheap, filthy dates and DID NOT CALL ever again.

I peed in the Reston Runners’ Gatorade.

I fell once.

I ate many gels.

I chugged chicken broth by the quart.

I beat an ARMY RANGER.

I did not cry, I did not get sick, I did not even get all bitchy at Rusty at any point during the last 23 miles, during which he ran with me.

Well, OK, fine.  I cried when I crossed the finish line.  Fine.

I was the TWENTY-EIGHTH woman finisher.

Team, life is beautiful.  I need to drink this beer and sleep.  Thanks for reading.  A fuller recap to come.