This morning, I did twelve very hilly trail miles.

I wasn't intending for it to take as long as it took; I wasn't intending to follow as hilly a route as I followed; I wasn't intending to get as hot as I got; I wasn't intending to wind up going as slowly as I went.

But I did.

(Disclaimer - don't try this at home. This is a trained idiot on a confused course).

Around mile 10.6, I ran past a corral with a donkey:


                                  

As I was trotting past this donkey - running, on blacktop, in no shade - I realized that  the donkey was standing as close as he could stand to the fence in order to get as much shade as he could get - in other words, the donkey was smarter than I was.

By this time, Church was Out and I knew that my run was not going to go well; I knew that I would lose a bit of time at work, that I would not feel well for the rest of the day, that I might get injured or sick or even die, and I was jogging from shade tree to shade tree, whereupon I would lean over with my hands on my knees and rest and try to get my heartrate down - and it occurred to me that I could call my friend New River Jeff, who lived in the neighborhood, and he could come pick me up in his truck and give me a ride back to my house.

But I didn't.

Why didn't I call New River Jeff? Because I was close to having 11 miles done on a 12 mile planned run, and DOGGONE IT if the schedule says 12 miles, you run 12 miles, unless you're injured or dead. I was not yet injured, nor dead. Therefore I had to keep running.

I've had a very brief nap since then, and I've drunk some chocolate milk and eaten a bit and stretched a lot and even got in the pool briefly to get my core temperature down. I'm not feeling nearly as bad as I was afraid that I would feel, although the 16 miles for Saturday may wind up being a bit ambitious.

Maybe, before I do that, I'll ask the donkey.