That's it. Two years ago I trained for my first half-marathon. I spent months running. I built up my miles and endurance, careful not to push too hard or too fast. I worried, fretted, theorized, and told anyone and anything that would stand still and listen my dreams of making it a full 13.1 miles. The day of the race I planned with more detail than my wedding. I laid out the clothes, the food, and the willpower I would need to see me through this--at the time--incredible feat of distance.
Fast forward to this morning. My running group met and the May 3rd marathoners set out for a 19-mile run. Others ran everything from 6 to 12 miles. Except for Blair. With almost no training, and not having run a step for the past 3 weeks, he pulled in almost 14 miles. No big deal, no fanfare. Just one slow step after another. "I think I'm ready for the half-marathon" he said as we were driving home. I was too grumpy to answer him.
Actually, I'm really proud. I swear to you, the man has an iron willpower. If he sets his mind to it, it gets done. I wonder if there is any sort of Vulcan-mind transfer we can arrange before May 3rd?