Seven. Finally.

We were gone all weekend, starting Friday afternoon, and I knew that I wouldn't get any running in. That seven-mile run just kept nagging me. No matter how busy we were or what we were doing, it just kept popping into my thoughts and I knew the only way to get it out was to just do it.

Sunday, after we returned home at 3:30, I was pretty tired, so I laid down for a nap. Two hours later, I woke up and started stretching a bit and tried to get into the proper frame of mind that would allow me to do the seven.

I started out, not quite sure which route I would take. I first went north, but after just one-tenth of a mile of the 20 mph winds in my face, I quickly turned around. I turned east at the first intersection and decided to keep going that way for a few miles. Though I didn't relish the idea of running into the wind, my aunt and uncle's house was about three-quarters of a mile north and I decided I would take a bathroom break there. Besides, I hadn't seen them in awhile and knew they would be surprised to see me show up unexpectedly.

I was right. While I needed to make my break short, I ended up staying about half an hour, most of which was spent on their living room floor stretching all the while that we talked. Finally, I said to them, "I hate to pee and run, but I need to keep moving." They laughed, wished me luck, and I was back on my way.

At that point, I had just two more miles to go. I was 3.5 miles from home, so I called Romie and told him I was heading south for two miles and for him to come with the car and pick me up in about 20 minutes. He got there in ten and let the car coast beside me for the last mile.

I was never more glad to get in that car and get home, where I promptly showered and collapsed. I was totally spent. I'm glad I reached seven, but that means next weekend, I'm to do eight.

This running stuff isn't for wimps, that's for sure.