14 miles

. . . is a long friggin' way to run. Especially when you actually run 15 miles.

Here's what I learned from endurance run number two:

Running midday is way different than running first thing in the morning, especially on a sunny, breezeless, hotter than muggy hell kind of day that falls after three days of heavy thunderstorms. And running in the midday heat is hard. So hard, in fact, that I believe without a doubt it can kill you. This is why people think people who run marathons are crazy. We are.

I hit the proverbial wall somewhere after mile 10, so I stopped for some slurps of water and stretching in the shade. I tried, but failed, to wet myself down with the water fountain. I would have jumped into that tiny hole from which the water was shooting if I could have. My right knee hurt. But I pushed on.

I listened to my entire running playlist on the ipod, then switched to a general shuffle. When those slow songs came my way, I couldn't help but slow down. So I took some "active recovery" breaks and walked in the shady patches of the trail. Then a few salsa numbers came up and I picked up the pace again. But I pretty much walked the last mile home. I figured I needed a good, long cool down.

So, I did the 15 miles in 2:49, a time not far from my half-marathon time last October. So, I feel good about that, especially considering the heat.

Next time I'll get up at 6 as planned, despite: the riveting (not) Lifetime movie keeping me up too late the night before; the party boat in the middle of the lake full of drunken, happy but still assholes hooting it up until 2 a.m.; the crazy hunger pains first thing in the morning. I ended up getting up at 8, eating at 9, watching Sunday Morning and checking out the NYT and heading off at 11. I don't know if I could have made it without eating something. But I really can't run unless at least two hours have passed since eating. Maybe this is where a power bar would come in handy. But I hate to eat anything I don't love, that isn't remarkably delicious. Harumph.

Which brings me to the good news: I lost two pounds this week. That means I'm 10 pounds down from when I started with TTT, 5 of which came off in the past two weeks. It's got to be the cleaner eating. Perhaps the intense running, too. But I was already running about 30 miles a week when I started. A mystery. But as long as I'm on the winning (or in this case, losing) side of things, I guess I don't need all the details. If it works, I'll keep doing it.

I also found a Bruce Springsteen Greatest Hits CD in my car and popped it in. "Born to Run" was the first track. I'm adding it to my running playlist on my ipod. It didn't work for John Kerry, God love him, but perhaps it'll do the trick for me. I always begin and end my long runs with U2's "Bad" and it really does something for me. I've been really into these mega-performer types. They've got something. U2 of course has been a lifelong love, soundtrack, inspiration. But I've been listening to Sting, Springsteen and lots of Coldplay, who I think we'll see added to the list of Anthem Rockers before long. It's the big music, but it's also the big, collective experience, I think.

Bono talks about this in the book that came out in the spring, "Conversations with Bono." When asked about the experience of all the adoring fans in the stadiums night after night, he refutes the notion of the adoring fan. He suggests the audiences are screaming their heads off for themselves. The band has provided the music that literally is the soundtrack of their lives, yes; and the energy of their live performance is undeniably magic, but in effect, a live U2 show provides an opportunity for tens of thousands of people to collectively relive the highs and lows of their lives. He's right--that's why the shows are so powerful for me. When I saw them in May, the experience was transformative, I was in tears for most of it. But the tears were for the life that I have lived, and for the magic of the moment in that moment. As much as I love Bono and the boys, the tears were not for them, although I am grateful to them.

How's that for a tangent?

Here's another one. "My Hometown" is on the Springsteen cd I'm listening to, and that song kills me. Killed me the first time I heard it--I think in 1984 or whenever "Born in the U.S.A" came out. I was 7 or 8, and couldn't possibly have understood the weight of the lyrics or even what it meant to have a hometown. Another song that has made me cry since the first time I ever heard it is the Beatles' "She's Leaving Home." Simon and Garfunkel's "Homeward Bound" does the same thing. Spotting a theme, yet? I don't know if it's just the archetypal experience, or if I somehow knew that I would have to leave home, and then return again--and what that really means and what a painful process that is.

Running is such a part of that for me, now. After nearly 28 years of trying to belong somewhere, to someone, I finally figured out that the loyalty has to be to myself. Always. And that is home. The running, and by this I mean the leaving the people I've loved, the travelling around, the seeking new people, ideas, the trying on different identities for myself, thankfully, has led me back to who I truly am. It all has built who I am in many respects. But the only way I can get to that essence is by pushing the limits, by going to the edge, pushing over that edge, and then--with a little luck and a lot of determination--taking flight.

But at the same time being present. Allowing myself the time and space to grieve the losses and to rest. That is what this summer is about, and the marathon training provides a remarkable balance for me. Learning, growing with every step.