2 miles. Cry. Continue.

Daylight Savings, how I love thee. I went out at 6:00 and walked a block, looked towards the very dark lake, and turned back towards home; it was too spooky. I set out again an hour--and sunrise--later for my long run of the week. The wind was brutal against my legs--it felt as though every step forward resulted in two steps back; like running in, what I can only imagine, a Dyson vacuum feels like. At mile 2, I paused my workout, sat on a bench, looked towards storm clouds over downtown Chicago, and cried. Everything was too hard: running against wind, waking up too early, being without Lauryn. Too damn hard. Everything.

I took a few breaths, wiped my tears with Lauryn's mitten, and set off again. Puddles and mud and wind. After another 1.5 miles, I turned around. With the wind behind me, I visualized I was being pushed towards my goal. My pace picked up (despite skipping Gloria Estefan; really dude?!) and I ran beyond my start point, down to Promontory Point, and then back again.

8.0 in 1 hour 13 minutes.