If fitness were a thing to be bottled, saved for certain occasions on which one's best was needed, then tonight's would be deservedly corked.
Not to say that this was itself a race effort. Just that effort came easily, happily, always with the promise of more, should it be requested.
Finish pleasantly fatigued, exhilarated. Inhaling the effort that was, while knowing that the well's bottom was deeper still.
Like this, you think. Wake up with these legs, these lungs, this sense of enthusiasm. Why not every race? Shit, why not every important workout? And, for that matter, why not every run?
Because it doesn't work like that.