I’ve always been a coffee drinker. Can’t get my day going without that morning jolt. Wouldn’t think of going out on a run before settling down with a cup. That early boost of caffeine is supposed to be good for your run.

Yes, it’s a diuretic and can lead to unwanted pee stops. But that’s why you only savour one cup before – and as many as you like after – your run.

I’ll ingest a wide range of brews: from the hockey-player doughnut-chain stuff to the high-end pretentious concoctions dispensed by overly-gelled or pierced “baristas.”

“Can I get anyone something from the bar?” they’ll sing, while hordes of us wait in line.

“Nah, just a big black coffee!”

“SHE’LL help with you with THAT,” as his eyes roll back.

Feel kind of guilty every time I line up to pay way too much for a beverage that costs only a few cents to serve. So many Canadians feel that way, that the country leads the world in per capita coffee shop sales.

Coffee’s a ritual after our group’s runs, too. It’s a time to sit around, catch up, trade training tips and convince everyone that the 35 k – or the hour of speedwork – didn’t really hurt. At least not that much.

And you go through the long list of injuries.

The runners I’ve been having trouble keeping up with these days have put together a team for the upcoming Cabot Trail Relay. It’s held every year at the end of May – a 17-stage, 298-kilometre race that is said to offer some pretty amazing scenery and some awfully challenging terrain. It’s supposed to be a hoot.

Trouble is, a lot of the coffee talk lately has been about who’s hurtin’, who’s on the verge of hurtin’ and who’s starting to mend. Last Wednesday, the team was musing about having to dig into the bullpen.

But what’s that got to do with coffee? Hang on, I’m getting to it.

Another topic that night: the first marathon of the season. Athens. No, not that one. Ohio. Three Nomads were preparing to make their way down for the April 4 race – John, Ellie and Ron. No injuries there, but John was sounding like he was wrasslin’ a pretty nasty cold. Questions about preparations and readiness circulated around the table. The usual, “how ready can you be” answers. And “you never really know until you toe that starting line.”

(Turns out they were ready: John finished fourth overall and first guy over 40 to cross the line. Ellie was the first woman over 40 to finish. Ron was no slouch either – posting a 1:26 for the half marathon.)

My mind drifted, like the aroma of the blend rising from my cup. Man, the coffee was tasting good. And yes, I had had a good run – for the second night in a row. What with all the aches I’ve been battling the past few weeks, it had been a while since I had run two consecutive evenings.

Last Sunday, while most of the runners I know where doing Around the Bay in Hamilton, Ontario – North America’s oldest road race – I was doing “around the pool.” Deep water running. Figured I covered about a mile in just over an hour, as swimmers glided past me in the slow lane. Still, it turned out to be a much more challenging workout than I expected. Never realized you could actually sweat in the water.

As I finished up the coffee and got up to head home, I noticed something really unusual. It didn’t hurt to move. There was no limp as I walked. I hadn’t felt that good in weeks. Was all the physiotherapy, massage, poking and prodding and rest finally kicking in? Or was it that guy I thought I saw outside - leading the donkey away?

Looks like I’m getting to Boston, with a little help from the church of Juan Valdez.

LETTERS   [Email Peter here]