I didn't realize how sore I was until about ten steps into today's run. An awful run, full of sweat and slowness. I started to wish I would just poop my pants, so when people wondered, "Why's he running so slow and looking so miserable," they would just nod and say, "Oh, he pooped his pants." But no luck.
I'm guessing I ran five miles (1:02.50). Meanwhile, it's 95 degrees and my body is full of the piles of post-marathon celebration food, and I spent more than one night this week, staying up until 2 a.m. watching Star Trek: The Next Generation. So I recognize I'm dealing with several issues, and I don't feel awful about the run, but today I find it hard to believe I ran a marathon when I was younger.