I guess I should have written this yesterday while I still had "the high". The high that you get from running an exhilarating yet scary 20 miles. Where you are dehydrated and have salt crystals up and down your arms and legs when you finally stop. The long slow distance (LSD) training of any runner is a jumbled mess of uncertainty, pride, worry and elation. The uncertainty that at any moment (or so it seems) something could go wrong and you won't finish. The pride of doing something you love while others look at you in awe and think you are crazy (they just need a taste of the endorphins!). The worry that you don't have enough liquid and caloric support along with you or spread on your route to support the whole distance. The elation that comes off and on during the run when you feel good and when you meet your goal (tired, sore, thirsty and hungry).
My route takes me back and forth through town and out into the country. I pass people that only know me as "that runner" and we have what I call a waving relationship. This weekend I got to see the aftermath of the sold-out Hinder, Buck Cherry (huh? is that right?) and Papa Roach concert down in the park. Maybe some of them had their own LSD going on? It seemed like all the guys were still sleeping while the women were walking around with little wads of toilet paper trying to find a suitable or available place. Part of my LSD is seeing what is going on, noticing the things that you don't have time for while driving 4 happy kids (see how it affects my mind!) around in a mini-van. Not to mention I usually run quite early on Sundays and most people aren't even up as I start my run. I see the fast-food bags tossed out next to the beverages of choice along the roadside, I have red-winged black birds attack me because they think I am a threat, I see the moon getting ready to disappear and the sun making a vibrant appearance. Nothing beats a little LSD