Almost thirteen hours. Thirteen hours on a Saturday. Giving the both of us almost 60hours of work for the week. Straggling home, the storm brewing a frothy windy mess, we are both pooped. A week of moving various people's furniture, books and an array of personal belongings which make me tire just recounting them. All over Boston we ran these items and it has changed the week.
Accomplishing the two main objectives for the week, a tempo run Monday and sprints on Friday, we are both on the same track. Darkness creeps in, a welcome intruder, within thirty minutes of being home. Without any regret we call our third day off for the week. A rarity, but one that has worth.
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