Sometimes, great runs come out of nowhere. Like when you voluntarily wake up with a 5-handle on the last day of your vacation. When the first mile is brutal, your legs just won't go and you convince yourself that four miles is just about enough. When 8-minute miles feel too fast.
But then your legs start to shake out. You loosen up. Your view snaps into focus. Your pace comes down. Your breathing steadies. 7:30. 7:00. Before you know it, 6:30 is smooth and you feel like you're running again. And you figure what the hell. It's cool (for the desert), it's your last day so why not run hard.
And then with a mile left, after a one-block, two mile option tacked onto the middle of the run, you're dashing sub six across lawns and driveways, dancing by lethargic bus stop waiters, wondering why you're pushing it so hard. And it all evens out.
Eight miles at seven-minute pace equals 56 minutes exactly. And when you finish, you realize you actually had quite a bit left in your tank. And you smile, because you're faster than you give yourself credit for. Maybe all these miles are paying off. And you know that next time, you can push it even harder.