Wahoowa!

I triumphed over the fears and fatigue. I ran my 20 miles. I did not die. And I can walk.

I was scared so I asked advice of everyone I knew. And I got a lot of good tips.

My mantra as I ran was: Don't get injured. Finish.

Everything else was beside the point.

It was a perfect day, clear and gorgeous and clean. On the way over I saw Gonzalo running down Los Felix Blvd in his red running shorts. I honked and shouted his name but he was in the zone. Still, it felt like a good omen. My running sage was still going. Maybe I will run into him on race day. That would be so cool.

I stashed a little container of sumo mandarins (my new favorite fruit) behind at wall at what would be my mile 6 and my mile 14. I carried dates on my person, plus a map and my music.

This time I did not listen to music. I had played the Lion King in the car and I sang to myself mile 1-10. After that I was quiet. I stopped more. I stretched a lot. I ate dates and oranges like fuel, and I stopped at every drinking fountain I saw and I drank. I did not experience euphoria in the drug-induced endorphin sense. I did not feel universal love, or one with all runners. But I did start crying as I crossed the street at the final traffic light.

Now I know I can do it. I was slow. Slow as a snail. But I know, even if I have to walk, I will finish.

Half-way through my return trip in Griffith Park I saw a woman wearing a T-shirt that said: 20 miles. Race Ready!

I want one!

I soaked in an ice-bath post run, per the advice of my super athlete friend Doug Robson. And I feel OK.

In bed all night my legs tingled. Not a bad tingling. Just tingling. And when I closed my eyes I was still running--the way you are still skating when you take off your skates.

All I have to do now is taper, and I know I can do that!!!