21.1 miles. It took a long freakin' time; it's not clear exactly how long a time, when you take into account the snack breaks and the bathroom break and the numerous looking-for-a-bathroom-and-not-finding-one breaks. The story goes like this: Alex oniugnip and I leave my house around noon and head more or less straight east to 72nd, then point ourselves south. We go up part of the eastern slope of Mount Tabor and down it again. Alex does the thing he does with hills, which is haul ass to the top and then stand around taking pictures as I work my way up at a slow person sane person's pace.
We continue southward, through and past my old neighborhood. At ten miles in, we haven't taken a break yet! I really want to go to His Bakery ("I am the bread of Life"), but they're closed, so we spend the next several miles plodding along, getting hungrier. Apparently, no convenience store in southeast Portland has restrooms for customer use -- we try four of them. At long last, we get to a public restroom shortly after picking up the trail, and we stop and stretch and use it and tell ourselves that we can eat delicious snacks when we get to Sellwood, which a sign helpfully informs us is 2.1 miles away. When we arrive there, a friendly person points our sorry-looking selves to a building which is supposed to have food in it. We stumble over there, open the door, and whoa, we're in a yarn store -- which also happens to house a coffee shop with delicious muffins and juice. Alex is all excited about yarn stores in general, now. He keeps talking about how beautiful all the yarn was and how nice and welcoming the store felt. I've tried to gently suggest that although, yes, the yarn was very pretty, it's perhaps conceivable that his reaction might have more to do with, you know, the psychosomatic effects of getting to sit down and eat a muffin and drink apple juice after running for fifteen miles, and perhaps not quite so much to do with the yarn itself, but he's having none of it!
Back on the trail, up past Oaks Park, along the river, and finally to Division Street, where we head east for a little while and then cut through Ladd's Addition. We stop for more juice and a good long walking break, and then I notice through the window of the 7-Eleven on the north side of Ladd's that it's six p.m. Crap! We're late for sndc at Dan dan_o_m's house, which started half an hour ago. If I were on the ball, I'd realize that we only had a mile to go at this point, and I'd say "Let's just run to Dan's place", which is conveniently just about a mile away. But for some reason I think that we still have two or three miles to go, so we start running again and I make us run north for another mile and a half, then turn east on Broadway and go for another half-mile before finally stopping in front of the Fred Meyer, where we buy spinach, garlic, and bus tickets. It is now six-thirty, and we slowly walk the fifteen blocks to the 75 bus, swinging our bag of produce and telling each other how awesome and/or tired we are.
Onto the bus, off of the bus, four-block walk to Dan's, and we're finally there, two hours later than we're supposed to be but feeling pretty good. We more or less inhale a pizza, then sit around being sated and happy until it occurs to us that, oh yeah, um, Alex's flight leaves in two hours and we're nowhere near home and he hasn't packed yet and we both look and smell like we've just run twenty miles. Tommy spacecowboytom saves the day by driving us home in a jiffy, and we take the world's fastest shower, throw Alex's stuff into his bag, leap into the closest available Zipcar, head to the airport, and miraculously arrive there with an hour to go before his flight, which leaves a solid ten minutes for making out on the sidewalk.
Yay! We can run 21 miles! And we're doing a marathon in two weeks! We have a sensible race plan: go out too fast, finish too fast, and take it too fast during the middle part. Nostrum Vicis Statuo.