There was so much cake in my fridge. A huge slab cake. It was taunting me.
It was 30 degrees Celcius in coastal Saint John (it is never that hot).
The cake was cool, and sweet and delicious. And then after it was consumed, it felt disgusting in my gut. I felt instantly heavier and sweatier.
Somehow, I had to make it out for a long run that night. I told myself I had to. 18 K.
So I waited until 9 p.m. when it was just a little cooler – not much. And I made a bargain with myself: just run 10 K. I laced up and threw on my coolest running clothes. I started running as slowly and steadily as possible. Set my Garmin on the run/walk feature to take a mandatory break every 10 minutes.
The sun started to set, and I got into a rhythm. 10 K felt possible.
I crossed Reversing Falls and the temperature dropped a couple degrees. So I said, just a little farther. Add another 2 K to make it 12.
I looped back to head on home and everything felt right. The cake was a distant memory. I was running slowly, but had a lot of energy left. I walked in my door and rehydrated with Gatorade and water. Then I did something I’ve never done before. I went back out the door and kept going.
I tacked on another 5 K. Ah, why not make it 6. Before I knew it, I had met my goal.
It was the warmest night I ever remember in Saint John. And it wasn’t until the final home stretch that I felt a burning sensation between my toes. Not sure if it was the sweat, or the extra mileage I’ve been building lately, but my feet had had enough. The skin beneath my second toe on my left foot was peeling off very painfully. I came home to find a bloody sock.
My superficial toe injury has left me limping around a bit more than usual this week. Walking down stairs is particularly ouch-worthy. But hey, it’s like a war wound, and I’m proud of it.
And although the cake was lovely, leftovers from a sweet, post-elopement gathering, I didn’t touch it again.