This is Muthafuckin War, Bro. You read me?

This is Feb 2013. I have already had an injury and yet we just got started. No matter, I am past the injury now and my sights are set on my goals.
Last year, I respected the distance, gradually pushed up the mileage and did recovery runs and I followed the advice that if you are training for a 21K, your long run need not be more than 21K.
Total garbage. I have realized that the internet is full of crap. 99% of marathon-related articles are aimed at people who want to finnish, not to race.
Now I know so I am stepping away from that puerile crap.
Yes, I didn't get injured much: I got an ITBL and then a PF that lasted more than seven months which I was able to run through.
But I didn't lose much weight, I didn't meet my goals and I never got as fast as I could have. This is comfort zone crap for sissies.

So this year, it is a muthafuckin war, no cutie-pie-crap. We strap on our shoes, pick the water bottle and go the muthafuckin distance. As fast as I can. No recovery runs. No nothin.
So I went for a scheduled 32K run on Sato. I was supposed to have it done in 3 hours. I was on target up to 20K. Then I started tiring, which was not surprising because I am just coming back from and injury and haven't ran long distance for a while. In fact, that fatigued state is the target of the long run because it teaches you to fight past that fatigue and it freaking pushes your muscles. The result is mental toughness, stronger muscles and overall strength and speed. So as much as I was getting my soul destroyed and baked in the open sun, I appreciated that there is no act of creation without destruction. So I drained my energy reserves and moved on. By 24K, I was an empty shell and I started walking. Then I combined walking and running up to 27K. At which point, It took all the years of discipline and hard work I have ingrained in myself to stop me from just placing my ass on the nearest flat surface and letting the fatigue ease away. My energy was gone, my legs were shot. Every stone or brick that lay on the roadside looked like a soft leather seat just begging me to sit on it, even just for a few seconds. My legs wanted to sleep. I had to stop a few times and shake my head for the stars to go away and to get a grip on my consciousness lest I pass out. I looked around desperately for a boda boda and surprisingly, there was none. I walked with the 50/= clutched in my hand, ready to pump money into the economy. But like they say, when a monkeys day to die arrives, every tree becomes slippery. I usually use the 50/= to buy the sunday paper but this time, I didnt even want to look at the headlines. Fuck the politicians. I just wanted to reach home before I become part of the local news .
I didn't stretch. For the first time, I had no energy to stretch. I just wanted to reach home.
My muscles ached like hell for several hours and I felt exactly how I felt the first time I ran 21K more than six years ago - like I have ran into something bigger than me. Like I have reached outside my comfort zone. And its a delightful, exciting feeling. Beautiful pain. Painful reward.

This is my rebirth. Blood, sweat and tears.

I feel challenged and now I must devote my faculties toward meeting that challenge. I have lost my fitness. I must get it back, and move past it. This is war motherfocker. I am telling ya.