|Greg, read the signs!|
By then everything felt wonky. My feet were sore, knee was clicking, hip ached . . . nothing felt right and it was in my head. Heck, I had even forgot to switch Old Bob over from cycling to running. I tried to force myself to run 4 miles but by mile 2 I was heading for home and just hoping not to breakdown. Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, I managed to startle a homeless man who proceed to yell at me in bum speak. I didn't mean to interrupt his conversation with the inner voices/gods/ancient Atlantian's, but he seem to look at my little wave as I went by him as some obsene finger gesture and proceeded to launch into a bit of a tirate. So after speeding up just enough to put him out of ear shot, I went right back into full on slog mode the rest of the way home.
I ended up doing 3.86 miles in 39.22 for a 10:11 pace, which in retospect was not that aweful, but in the future, I will really need to pay attention to the temperatures.