Broad Street Run Eve, April 30, 2011.

Saturday April 30, 2011:

7:08AM:  I woke up late and anxious, grabbed the cairnoodle and headed for the closest coffee shop (caffein headache already setting in) for a large medium roast and go-go vitamin water;

8:00AM: Walk achieved, I headed to the office to focus on my disaster of a week, quietly ignoring the less-than-24-hours milestone about to pass and drinking water all the way;

8:45AM: Locked out of the office, milestone #1 achieved, still not a carb in my body;

9:00-11:00AM: 2 hours not spent looking at a computer screen in a quiet office as I'd originally planned.  Rather, it was 60 minutes of peace and reflection at the feet the stoic lemon hill.  This time was still and steady - in my breathing, stretching and contemplation, there was clarity and a refocusing on the task at hand;

11:00-11:30AM: Rounding out the trip back home, cleaning up and out and doing the laundry I was sure would be otherwise left untouched after 10 miles on Monday;

11:30AM:  6 year old niece arrives hyped up on PB&J and the thrill of a day in the city with a now very anxious aunt;

12-3:00PM: Bought niece a bikini I wish I could find in my size (you're welcome, dad), lunch and the Broad Street Festival complete with a ferris wheel line extending down the 1300 block of Walnut.  Around 1:30, sitting in a restaurant on 16th Street, I (for lack of a better word) freaked, got up from the table and walked toward the satisfying finality of a bathroom door clicking shut.  Too bad this was a horrifyingly small chain restaurant with one bathroom and yet another line full of older women that can't manage to pee in less than 5 minutes.  Out the front door of the restaurant I went out into the noise and anonymity of 16th Street to find Philadelphia Runner's windows screaming this: "DESTROY YESTERDAY."  Yes, thank you, I think I will.

3:00-4:30PM:  Drive niece home in 2005 nondescript SUV, windows down, country music up.

4:30-5:15PM:  Cross bridge from NJ, make long overdue phone call, scream (not at) with someone that knows better than you do that, at the end of the day, you're not crazy, the circumstances are.  During screams, decide on beer store, parallel park with phone wedged between shoulder and chin (sorry dad) and grab cases of rolling rock/coors light for post-Broad Street BBQ.

5:15-5:45PM: Brave the South Street Superfresh at dinnertime for salt-free pretzels and real potato chips, peanut butter, bananas and wheat bread.  Realize the irony.  Drive to BBQ location, drop off purchases and breathe as I walk back to the car, alone and inconspicuous in my lulu.

5:45PM: Shower;

6:00PM: Teach friend how to parallel park and skip back to the house with her and her bags - things are finally real;

6:50PM:  Walk to Italian Market, attempt dinner at Restaurant #1, pout at the 40 minute wait, locate reliable backup and head toward Restaurant #2;

7:15PM:  Enter random corner market to kill time, explore the shelves offering everything from hair extensions to "Cake Derators" (presumably a cheaper version of a "cake decorator") and settle on dark chocolate raisinettes to tide me over until Dinner;

7:30-9PM:  Dinner and toasting with the team (minus one).  Look around the table and think, "I'll make it."

9:15PM:  Make 5 peanut butter and banana sammies for the team and breathe deep - it's almost game day.

10:00PM:  Lay out clothes for the next morning, set out gel packets, tokens and cash, fill water bottles and set coffee, wash face, lay down, stare at ceiling, close eyes - repeat, "This started with 5 blocks."