Move that body: 7.03-mile run (average pace, 10:34)
I woke up this morning with a pit in my stomach that I haven't felt in a long time. The pit created by long run dread.
You know what I'm talking about. You have "x" number of miles on your schedule and you know you should run them but you look for every out you can.
I ran a hard race yesterday. It's best to rest.
I have a cutback week in the not so distant future. We'll just move it to this week.
My sports bra is dirty.
Infants have no clue what Daylight Saving Time is. That 5 a.m. wake-up call did me in.
My running partner only wants to go 3 miles. A relaxed 3-miler would be nice.
Add about 100 more and that's what my thought process was like. I just didn't feel like doing the 7 miles on the schedule. I didn't really want to get in any miles, to be honest, but I figured 3 would be good, 5 would be a victory and 7 was not gonna happen.
Regardless, I tried to set myself up for success. I tried to think positive thoughts, reminded myself of why I was doing this and I grabbed a Peppermint Gu as an incentive to make it through. Add in a little encouragement from Mark, and I was out the door.
My husband was lovely enough to join me for the first 3 miles. They were a bit tough - my legs were tight and tired from yesterday, I still hadn't got my head all the way in it and Denali thought he was leading the pack of elites at the New York City Marathon. Once we parted ways, though, and I was on my own - only I could make it happen - I settled in a bit and the run started to feel good. Or close enough.
I nursed the Peppermint Gu for a mile and a half - about mile 3 to mile 4.5 - and it was amazing. Like Christmas in a foil pouch. I'm not sure it gave me any boost but it was a nice flavor - not sickeningly sweet - and it provided a great distraction/reward.
I started to slow down a lot as I approached 6 miles. My legs were finished. To make it to the end, I thought it might be a good idea to run-walk the last mile.
Wrong. So wrong.
After walking 0.1, it took all the energy I could muster to pick up my legs. It sucked. I stopped for a moment, stretched out and decided to just keep moving, no matter how slowly, until I didn't need to move any longer.
When I crossed that finish line (aka my driveway), I was ecstatic. Not only because I could stop moving but because I did something that I didn't set out to do. I motivated myself, I pushed through and I won. If only you could get a plaque for that ...
What did you accomplish this weekend?