Still hurting some. No injuries, no real pain per se, just a general crying out from every last mitochondria: ENOUGH! Perhaps that post-marathon patio cover I built yesterday was over-doing it. Marathon event coordinators never promise Monday off of work.

Back today to finish it up, to be honest. Never in my life have I ever been so thankful to run out of screws. I actually ran out of screws yesterday! Which is like a computer programmer without an electrical outlet or a Disney animator without a pencil (or an electrical outlet, I guess, nowadays.) These things don't just stack together by themselves, you know.

They say the recovery time is longer as you get older, though you can still handle the feat itself. Something about this doesn't make sense, but 48 hours after a marathon, I ain't arguing. I really feel like running right now, too, which seems odd. I just kind of want to be out there on the quiet suburban streets, which is a nice feeling to have. How about a long slow run/walk, as it's described in the books? Perhaps tomorrow.

And there's the rub. A day off to recover and you feel great. Some days after a long run I can still feel the energy -the endorphins or whatever- 24 hours later. But take three days off and the lethargy of life sets in. I can't get up off the couch, as my psyche dances a pathetic pity/pride samba: "Get up off the couch, loser!" "But I ran a marathon the other day." "That was nearly a week ago, you quitter!" "I could go out and run fifteen right now, if I wanted to." "Yeah? Let's see it!" "But I'm recuperating. Don't want to get an injury, you know." And so forth.

The best thing you can do is put the next race on the calendar, do a full power-down and re-boot. I'm thinking about it. No, I am. Really. I'll be thinking about it all day, while I'm schlepping aluminum up and down the ladder under the hot Cinco de Mayo sun.

But I'm no dummy: I picked up some margarita mixer on the way home from work yesterday. There's always room for more celebrating.


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