4.5

Today 4.5 miles took me over and lasted almost 45 minutes.  It wasn't fast or powerful; the hills were unrelenting and steady and I needed the breather.  The old comfort settled in and the run was just that.  Aching ankles walked me back to my office, three-day-headache free and lighter.  The elevator's 19 floor ascent convinced me that the tension in my shoulders took a break and my 45 minutes accomplished a lot more than the distance I logged. 

Had it been a normal day or a moderately manageable week, those 45 minutes would have sent me home to fuzzy socks and a glass of wine next to my terrier.  However, this week was filled with tug-of-war days and marathon nights. 

I took the 45 minutes and added the Royal Tavern, two beers I couldn't pronounce, an odd encounter with a bartender and an economy-sized honey bear and the shower radio blasting Le Ann Womack's "I Hope You Dance."

"When you come close to sellin' out, reconsider," I raved as the blue and white tile danced around me - 45 minutes and 4.5 miles never felt so good.