8 Mile

Note: This post has nothing to do with Eminem.

This Saturday I ran 8 miles. 8. I ran 8 miles. I have to repeat it because I still can't quite believe it. Shocking. And even more shocking, the final four miles were easier than the first four.

You know how in life there are moments where you hit the wall? Well, in my experience, in running, there are moments where you are over the wall. You're running along, and you feel as though you are coming up on the wall -- you're pretty sure the wall is just around the next bend -- but then suddenly your body shifts into a new gear and the wall is behind you. You've jumped the wall. Or morphed through the wall. Either way, the wall is gone and it's all downhill from there.

That's how it felt after mile 2 on Saturday. Those first two miles though, they're always killers. It's gotten to where I don't like running fewer than 4 miles, because otherwise you're coming up on the wall almost the whole time, and just when you've cleared it, it's time to quit.


Something tells me though, as I look forward to a nine or ten mile run this weekend, that there are more walls ahead and they won't all be so easy to get around.

No easy way around this one.