After taking a complete week off after Portland, I was around 40-50 for a month, then Abe was born, which totally screwed up my running (but I'll let is slide). The past 2 weeks I had been hovering around 50 miles again, with no real plan... I'd just get up and run however I felt.
Thinking I'd still like to hit 55ish this week, I woke up early this morning planning on 17-20 miles before chilling on the couch, drinking some Gritty's Christmas Ale, and watching the Bears beat the crap out of Tom Brady and the Patriots. Well, 3 miles into my run I started to think about Abe and my wife home, nice and toasty on the couch, and I literally started to tear up on how much I missed my newborn soon, whom I just kissed 20min. ago. I tried to focus on the run, thinking about Boston, or how I ate a bit too much sushi last night that I needed to burn, or how much of a wimp I'd be if I went home... but then it hit me. Fuck it! It's MY run!
Somewhere around 3.5 miles, I turned around, threw in some speed-work as I ran home at half-marathon tempo. The thought of spending a real Sunday morning with my family gave me an extra gear, and as I walked through the front door, Brianne looked at me with a horrified look in her eyes (as if expecting I was injured, or something was wrong) "why are you home already?!?"
I smiled, took off my shoes and went straight into the living room to grab my son. I'm immensely thankful for the clarity I received today.
My son, and beautiful wife are the most important thing to me, sorry running... you take 3rd place.
Tomorrow starts my official training for Boston, I'm looking at 18 weeks of the highest mileage I've ever run, but for today... I got my family
Oh, and I still got that beer....
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