I had a wonderful run Tuesday morning, the best in months and months. I’d taken the weekend off, and Monday, too, so I had no excuse not to feel fresh. But I was surprised at how light and smooth it felt, with a touch of that wonderful lifting feeling that’s rare for us creaky old guys. Today wasn’t too bad, either. Maybe it’s just being able to run in the light now, thanks to the reversion to Standard Time. Maybe it’s listening to Ivan Doig’s This House of Sky. Maybe I’m actually 30 years old and this feeling of being decrepit is just a dream. (Yes, I think that’s definitely it.) Regardless,  if I can keep this going, slow and steady,  20-25 miles a week, I should really be ready to roll in New Zealand—which trip begins in 88 days, 7 hours,  53 minutes, and 12 seconds, though nobody would be so lame as to actually be counting.

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