Dog bone

Every morning, usually around 8am, my dog comes in my room. Although he doesn't talk, if he did I imagine the first words I would hear are something along the lines of: "I need to pee, poo, and then I want my dog bone!" He has gotten his treat every morning for the past 6 years, but paws and jumps around as if I might somehow forget to give it to him. Once the bone exchange has taken place, there is nothing in the world more important to the dog. He doesn't drink water, growl at noises, or join me on the couch. The bone is the thing, until the end.

So I signed up for the Heartland 100. Given my penchant for paying 100 miler fees to run 50k-50 miles, it's not a stretch to call it a ridiculous proposition. The 100 mile distance, much like the bone, demands my attention. I must do it, just like my dog must treat that bone like a task that has to be completed. I am as excited and nervous as the dog is every morning. Back to reading blogs religously for any iota of training particulate that could propel my own. Wondering what the heck happened around mile 30 last year. No matter. It's an annual race, and I'm gonna keep at the thing until I'm done.

Good to have the bone back.