It seems that I was worrying needlessly. My groin does still hurt, but Paul Short’s results proved that it’s not going to affect my times. In fact, I don’t think I felt it at all during the actual event. But then I don’t think I would have felt a car hitting me.

You see, I started the race with a 5:20 mile. For this turtle, that’s pretty damn fast. It’s actually the fastest split I’ve ever run in an 8k by a full 14 seconds (!). I knew, though, that I would have to do everything I could to hold that speed through the entire 5 miles.

At the 3 mile mark, my legs were already wobbling under me. My knees buckled at the top of a hill and forced me to stumble very briefly. It was certainly a bad sign for the remaining two miles. And yet, I just couldn’t ease off of this amazing pace I had going.

By the time I reached the final straightaway (and it’s a long, looong straightaway at Lehigh) it was all I could do to keep hurling each leg in front of me. I was barely aware of anything—anything but the glorious pain that accompanies a personal record.

I ended up running a 28:14 8k. I was hoping to go sub-29, which would mean an 11-second PR. I never even dreamed of chopping 56 seconds off of my time.

Behold the walnut.

Smaller than my fist and colored an unassuming green. An agent of my destruction.

The trees of Bethlehem, overburdened with such fruit, have been dropping them to the earth. Some land in the street where they blacken into pulpy dreck. Others roll through the grass, as if finding the perfect place from which to strike.

On last Thursday’s run, I stepped on a walnut of the latter kind. Or, I should say, black walnut; my research revealed an apt name for such a shrouded ambusher. I ended up stumbling in such a way that made me tweak my groin. Tweak, not pull. I think.

It’s been a problem during practice the last few days, especially on hillier routes. Which will be fine if it just allows me a good race at Lehigh this weekend. Paul Short, after all, may be my last chance to PR in the 8k.