I killed it.
This morning's run? The same route we took last weekend that featured all of the nasty hills in the last 2.5 miles? It should have been scared. The concrete should have been shaking. Because this morning? I killed my run.
It. Felt. Amazing.
After last week's run I had a little bit of doubt. Could I do the miles? Would the 2:30 ever be mine? Can't my coach just forget hills exist? Because seriously. Oshkosh? It's pancake flat. We don't have no stinkin' hills.
But this morning? Totally different attitude. I ran strong. I kept a super consistent pace for 8 miles - my splits ranged from 11:14 to 11:25 minute miles with the exception of two miles where I forgot to stop my watch for a quick drink break and a super long stop light. And the final mile? After I've already logged 7 miles and dominated the hills, it was my fastest mile of the morning. Never ever has that happened before.