The days are just zipping by.
The weather has changed from nice late-summer to nice fallish.
If fall can ever be "nice". (you know I hate winter)
Because of a church event Saturday morning, I did not run.
Just get up and go do....
But THIS morning (Sunday) I ran.
And I ran the Cotton Row course again.
It was about 41 degrees this morning with just a whisper of a breeze and clear.
So I chose my wind pants to cover my running shorts and my mid-weight mesh long-sleeved top (with nice, double thickness collar).
Ear cover band and knit gloves.
It was just about right.
I started out a 6:08 AM.
Just a bit behind planned time.
As I was about to start, a group of about 30 runners crossed in front of me in the streetlight-lit dark.
I asked one of them what was going on.
He said, "marathon practice."
It is just about eight weeks until that event.
I went on along my favorite course reacquainting myself with all the twists and turns and ups and downs.
It is prettier in the morning sunlight but that does not happen here until about 7:15 or 7:30 now.
So I run in the sodium vapor-illuminated darkness.
There was virtually zero traffic.
For most of the course I run in the streets.
At mile three, my hands were beginning to sweat just a bit so I took off the knit gloves. (while I was walking up The Hill.)
Just holding one in each hand was enough to keep my hands warm by that point.
Everything went well until the middle of mile six.
Then left hip attachments (not the joint) began squeaking insistently.
The connector ligament that lifts my leg (thigh) was no longer happy with the task at hand.
Running Central had a quick conference with Runner and Coach.
It was decided that termination of the mission was not necessary at that time.
We were close to the finish line and some pain could be accepted for the next four or five minutes.
If things got worse, the decision to continue would be reconsidered.
But as has been the case so many times, "things" did not get worse.
They got better.
Somehow, the leg/pelvis attachments reduced their whining to a muted level by the time I re-entered Clinton Avenue and Runner motored on.
So much so, that there was a lengthy sprint at the end to the finish mark on the curb, across from the Coca Cola bottling plant.
A quick check of the clock indicated that I had chopped one entire minute off of my time of last week.
Sixty minutes flat (more or less).
It is good to visit my old friend again.
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