I love that moment, 90 minutes into a run, with a snowstorm pounding down on you and inches of snow beneath your feet, with your face dripping wet from the snow melting as it drips from my eyebrows, when I feel like I can fly.
Those moments of apprehension when I look over the long hours of running laid out for me in my training plan; followed by the moments of inner conquering when I believe I can do it.
The moments spent stretching, after three hours of running, when I realise my mosh pit induced ankle injury is fully healed.
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