At about 9:30 this morning, I cursed the hubris that led to my “‘I’m Back’” posting of a week earlier. I had just passed under the bridge that marked the 30 minute point in my run at the Rockies and was heading out for a further 30 minutes. I was climbing one of the innumerable hills that dot the Preserve, hacking with each stride. 3 minutes; 1/10th of the way. 7:06 pace isn’t helping, but if I slow I’ll stop. That’s just the way it is. Left at the farm towards the barn, and a passing glance at the cows strewn along the hillside. A downhill at last but not too steep because I’d have to go up it as I returned.

Just get me to the lake, Swan Lake, and maybe I’ll make it. Another hill, up, that I’d forgotten about. Damn. Damn. Finally the lake, and around. How long a walk back? Best not to think that way. But then as I turn, 12 minutes out, that’s, what, 40% of that extra 30 minutes, and into a brutal headwind. Hat off, grip it in left hand. Weren’t people complaining of the wind in the Bronx not long ago and wasn’t I dismissive of them. Now it’s my turn. Perhaps they had a point.

But now I know I’ll make it, provided those downhills I hit coming out aren’t too hard. Wasn’t I not long ago praising my ability to run up? That was then. I’ll get to the end at about 52 minutes; should I add something here or at the end? Here means another hill so I’ll add it on. Now it’s (mostly) down. Except for that pesky thing I ran down not long ago. But I can, and do, make it. Sweet down. Add 7 minutes on the flat as I shoot through Westchester Track folks assembling for a workout. But they’ll be gone when I finish so I can’t say hello. Still, pleased to be wearing my Warren Street shirt. Let them know they don’t own the place.

Fast final mile; last 1.8 (some downhill) in 11:30. Fini.

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