This past Saturday was officially our first long run - 8 miles. All things considered, it went well. I woke up at about 6:30 a.m. and somehow convinced Max that sleeping is overrated, and we should run before the temperature hit the expected forecast of 90 degrees. We were on the road by 7:15 with just a swig of water in our bellies. The day was gorgeous; the beach perfectly raked with only one or two people down by the water, their dogs jumping in the shallow water. The sky was clear, and the air was dry. We passed multiple what I would call "responsible" runners - you know the people that are running before they rush their kids to the beach, the ones that didn't close out a keg party the night before, the people that know that noon is a horrible time to run on a hot summer day.
Around the second mile, the end seemed to be so far away, but we kept pushing. I think that Max regretted the lobster roll from the night before, and I was realizing that my grape vodkas likely negated the benefits of my pasta dinner. That said, we continued on down the boardwalk to mile 5. It was getting pretty hot, so when we passed a little park at the exact time that the sprinkler system turned on, it seemed like heaven. We passed a few interesting people - the man precisely watering and soiling the grounds at the JFK museum, the group of fishermen sitting below the sidewalk in the rocks with their rods, the older couple that joked with Max about jumping around in the sprinkler system... It was all enough to get us back on our way home where we powered out the end of the run and went inside to start our day as the first beachgoers rolled out of bed.
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