10:30am. I'm bouncing at the start line of the Super Sunday 5 Mile race. It's twenty-five degrees and I'm trying to stay warm. The race director says a few words, finishes with "It's cold as shit," and the start gun goes off.
The first mile makes me question why I'm here. The cold air hurts and my hamstrings are tight. Do I want this? And then I hit the first mile marker and I can't believe my split... 6:54. Can that be right?
The next split is good too and, somewhere between miles 2 and 3, I start to want this race. I want it bad. I'm not thinking and I'm barely aware of the course... rounding the corner by the Harvard Graduate School of Design, sprinting through Inman Square, breathing hard between Cambridgeside and Kendall.
I cross the finish line 49 seconds under my goal time.
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