I had been living on water and cough medicine.
The chest cold was bad enough that I had not run since Wednesday.
Sunday morning I started the Philadelphia Half Marathon anyway.
I finished in 1:26:34.
Not a personal best worth framing. Very good for a morning when walking to the start had felt like a questionable medical decision.
My watch showed about 6:32 per mile. I was happy with that as a base for the next goal, especially after spending the final days coughing instead of running.
Then I nearly coughed my lungs out after the finish.
The result made a spring marathon under three hours look possible, but not automatic. My first idea had been even faster. A coach pointed out that the race calculators put me closer to three hours and change.
Fair.
I adjusted the goal. A Boston qualifier under three hours was still ambitious and made more sense alongside Ironman training. There was no need to force a 2:53 because I liked the number.
This was a useful correction. I was having fun running and racing. I wanted to keep the mileage without pretending triathlon and marathon plans fit together perfectly.
The faster goal was exciting. The revised one had a better chance of surviving the rest of my life and the training I actually wanted to do.
The next quarter meant getting back into the pool, onto the trainer, and through a bunch of shorter races that did not need to become major goals.
First I wanted a light recovery run.
Then pancakes.