That’s the amount of time between me and my next road race, the Tufts 10k.
I’ve spent all summer getting ready for this, in fits and spurts. I’ve run on the bike path, by the dirty water of the Charles, through the streets of Somerville and Cambridge. I’ve gone first thing in the morning, after dinner, in the blazing heat, dodging puddles.
I think running is the best way to get to know a city. In all the place I’ve lived and those I’ve visited – Hollywood, FL, the suburbs of Michigan, the backroads of New Hampshire, small towns in Europe, and more – I’ve found that my best adventures and discoveries happen when I am aimlessly jogging around.
In London, it was how I found what what ended up being our favorite bar with “baby football” aka foosball and foreign beers. In Germany, it led me to an art museum featuring the works of Damien Hirst. Here in Boston, it taught me the actual proximity of Alewife station to my house (for those times when the train gets randomly expressed and I end up way out there).
I am proud to call myself a runner, and proud of my dedication to going out and pounding that pavement. And I am also not embarrassed to admit that my pace is about 13:00/mile on a good day.
I don’t run for speed or to impress other people – I run for adventure, for the feeling of my ponytail whipping in the breeze, and for another way to see the world.
I like the medals too, though, and I’m looking forward to collecting another one on Monday!
[Want to read about a more serious runner? Visit my friend's blog about training for the Boston Marathon!]