Well, I feel lucky to be alive. Sixteen miles almost killed me. I thought that it might, so I kept putting the run off. It was a gorgeous 62 degrees, and I still kept talking myself out of running. "Maybe tomorrow." My wife was going to a pageant, so I finally talked myself into running about 4:30. The temperature had already dropped to 53 degrees and I knew it would be dark when I returned 3 hours later. In fact, I would probably spend the last hour running in the dark.
As I started out, I felt pretty good. I had completed a half marathon a week ago today. I ran 7 miles Thursday like it was just a walk in the park. I told myself, "I can do 16 miles - maybe not at a decent pace, but I can do it." Well, I almost didn't make it. As darkness fell, so did the temperature and my belief that I could do it. The last few miles, I was happy to get one foot in front of the other. (This was 2.9 miles further than I have ever ran before). My feet were getting to the point that I did not want them to hit the ground. I kept moving just to get home.
While in the shower, I just started freezing to death. I kept turning the hot water up. My teeth chattered as dried off. I took some flu medication as a precaution to anything that might be coming on, turned up the heat, got under some blankets, and fell asleep. When I woke up, my pillow was soaked with sweat. I woke up like that 2 more times. I didn't even feel like eating the pizza I was going to reward myself with. The next day I felt fine, except for some soreness.
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