Three weeks have passed. Recovery stands at about 95 percent, though I still ache in my left shin when I extend my foot too far. My finish time: 5 hours, 22 minutes and 32 seconds.

The Trail Marathon sits in a well-earned first place among the most demanding physical acts I’ve done. I started out slowly, actually following the plenty of advice I’ve gotten on running races. A few miles in, I resigned myself to just finishing, scrapping any pretense or hope of a sub-four. (I’ll always have Detroit, I reasoned.) I settled into a pace of just over 10-minutes a mile, trudged up the hills and worked downhills in the best controlled descent I could muster.

Despite the slow pace, I felt good. The leaves had peeked out since a test run a few weeks prior, and thunderstorms in the forecast held off, leaving a mild, cloudy day — perfect for a long run.

Dark moments in the woods

Then, just shy of Mile 11, I caught my toes on a root, landing with a thud that took the wind out of me and the skin off both knees. When I got to my feet, my dirt-caked knees protested. Fifteen more miles? You’ve got to be joking! I ignored the protests, and ran injured.

The full marathon consists of two 13.1-mile laps. As I neared the midway point, I really thought about quitting. Banged up pretty good and running slower than planned, I thought Mrs. Blocletters might have checked out of the bed and breakfast and made it to the park to cheer me on as I hit the split. I’m glad she wasn’t there. Bruised as I felt, I could easily have stopped and demanded she take me home. I wanted to quit, and might have had she shown up.

A second dark moment came around Mile 19. I don’t know if it’s what you call the wall, since it wasn’t mental, but my on-board fuel couldn’t keep up with the hills. On a wicked uphill, both calves seized up at once and I dropped again. Agony. I stayed on my back for several minutes, unable to move without twitching pain. After that, it took several more minutes of deep stretching to even walk.

All uphill from here

The next few miles sucked. Hard. I walked much of it. Tenderly. Hoping my calves would take me even to the next mile marker. I stopped at Mile 21, fishing a pebble from my shoe. When I got up, I actually felt a lot better — maybe Goo or bananas I’d eaten a few miles back finally kicked in. I wasn’t asking dumb questions. One foot in front of another. Repeat.

Somehow, I could now manage a trot, at least on downhills and the rare level terrain. Each mile, I told myself, got me closer to seeing my girls again. I wasn’t going to keel over in the woods and be picked apart my scavengers. I kept it up to Mile 25, which is all uphill. Where I bounded, despite injury, during the first lap, I now walked.

After that, I knew I could finish. I trotted as best I could, knees singing an aria of pain. On a long wooden bridge about a third of a mile from the finish line, a race volunteer says to me: “Hang in there, man, there’s a cold beer waiting for you.” I imagined a cooler of Coronas just the far side of the finish and was really disappointed to not find one. (Dear race volunteer, don’t say such things to a delirious runner after 25-plus miles.) But I finished. And I wanted to see my girls so badly I almost walked past the woman handing out the medals.

I finished the second half in 3:08:05, a 14-plus minute pace. In addition to being no fun, injuries apparently wreak havoc on your time.

Recovery is a four letter word

I felt great that day. Wrecked and wracked, but great. The next day, I felt even better. On day three, I could barely walk. I don’t know what I did to my shins, but the right stayed angry at me for a few days and the left for more than two weeks. Lots of ice packs and Alleve later, the mending continues. I look forward to running again, probably this week.

One thing’s for sure: The Trail Marathon will make the Detroit Free Press Marathon look like a cakewalk. And for an extra twist, the goal for Detroit is to run in the new Vibram FiveFingers.

Lump quiche in the easy-to-make category. Eggs, milk, cheese and filling — that’s it. Of course, you can use a pie shell if you want, but that just complicates things. I worked for a while at a cafe that featured a daily quiche and, having hundreds of them under my belt, this is pretty much my template.

3 eggs

1.5 C. milk (I use soy milk)

6-8 oz. grated cheese

1.5-2 C. cooked filling (veggies, meats, a combo)

Dash of salt, pepper, cayenne and nutmeg

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Start with the filling. For today’s quick, I used leftover carrot and yellow pepper from another recipe, onion, turkey bacon, mushrooms and rosemary. Saute filling until done. After cooking, you should have 1.5-2 cups, though this is a forgiving recipe so the exact amount doesn’t matter. Set aside.

Spray a 9-inch pie pan. Transfer the filling into the pan, add the cheese and mix thoroughly. Spread evenly over the bottom of the pan.

Whisk the eggs and milk. Like I said, I use soy milk, but you can use cow’s milk or even half and half. Add the salt, pepper, cayenne and nutmeg to taste, I’d say up to a half teaspoon of each (except the nutmeg), and whisk again. Nutmeg’s powerful stuff, so you only need a little bit, maybe a quarter teaspoon. Again, really forgiving recipe, so if you end up with too much cayenne or nutmeg this time out, cut back next time.

Pour the egg mixture over the cheese and filling mixture. Garnish the top if you like. For today’s quiche, I used six thin slices of tomato arranged around the top.

Bake at 400 degrees for about 10 minutes, then reduce the temperature to 325 degrees and cook until a toothpick comes out clean from the center of the pie, maybe another 25-30 minutes or so. Oh, if you use a shallow pie pan, you’ll want a cookie sheet underneath to catch spillover.

Allow the quiche to rest until it’s room temperature or so before cutting, or you’ll have a runny mess. If you can’t wait, that’s fine too, but know the consequences. Enjoy with salad, perhaps mixed greens in a light lemon vinaigrette, or a fist-sized hunk of bread.

Raw fish scares a lot of people, but it shouldn’t. People eat a lot creepier things* all the time and live to tell their tales. Plus, the tuna here isn’t technically raw, since it “cooks” in the acid of the lime juice.

This recipe is versatile and delicious. Sorry, no picture with this one.

1 lb. raw tuna steak

1 roma tomato

half a red pepper

1-2 green onions

3 sprigs of rosemary

Juice of 2-3 limes

Splash of olive oil

Salt & pepper to taste

Rinse the tuna in cool water with a dash of lime or lemon juice, and slice into half-inch cubes. Set aside. Remove seeds and protoplasm (that’s a technical term, right?) from tomato and chop into small pieces. I sliced it, then bisected the slices so I had thin, bite-sized pieces. Cut the red pepper into similar pieces, and slice the green onion. Throw the veggies in with the tuna.

Next, the marinade. Juice the limes into a food processor. Remove the rosemary leaves from the stems, and add to the lime juice. (I think cilantro is traditional for ceviche, and I’ve used that too. I bet basil is nice as well. About a handful.) Drop in a jigger of olive oil and a bit of salt and pepper. Puree for a moment, then pour the mixture over the fish and veggies. Stir to coat, cover and refrigerate.

Now is a good time to chill a few nice glass dishes. I once used martini glasses for this, and it made for a handsome presentation.

After 15 minutes or so in the fridge, stir the fish. Return to the fridge for another 15 minutes or so. Maybe half an hour. Whatever. Remove from fridge, adjust salt & pepper if necessary, and serve in the chilled dishes. Makes three or four servings. Homemade bread sticks make a nice foil to the acidity of this dish, but that’s another post.

Of course, management assumes no responsibility for illness that might result from raw or undercooked fish consumed after following this recipe. Enjoy at your own risk.

* Mrs. Blocletters and I were in Paris a few summers back. A man seated next to us at a cafe ordered beef tartare. Ew, we winced. But he dug in with gusto.