I was about to walk through the gate at Hookslide Kelly's last night as half a dozen runners flashed by me. Literally. Decked out for a run on snowbank-narrowed streets, the boys were lit up with flashers like Christmas trees. Very seasonally appropriate, very festive.
I knew my arrival was going to be really close to the 6:30 start, and was glad that I made it because I didn't know the course. I jumped onto the end of the conga line, and off we went.
After dodging some traffic in downtown Lowell, I settled in with Jason, David and Cullen for an exciting run. The company was good, but wasn't the source of the excitement. It was the ice on the downhills that made the run an adventure, and reminded me that I am in need of a last will and testament.
Another reminder followed, as J left me behind on a fairly steep grade. I've become a flatlander. For several weeks leading up to Hartford, I avoided my hilliest courses to rest my legs. After beating the hell out of my legs in Hartford, I stuck to my pancake flat Mass Ave and bikepath courses for the most part. When I started chasing J around the indoor track at the Lexington fieldhouse, I had a brand new excuse for cutting my calves and quads a break.
Gasping at the top of the hill, a terrible thought occurred to me. Stu's 30k really isn't very far off. So track-tired legs be damned, it's time to take to the Heights and get ready because Stu's is no place for a flatlander.