I did it. I completed my first week of marathon training, and I did it to the "T." Or should I say to the #TLAM.
Oh, geez. Sometimes my wittiness kills me. Or you. Whatevs.
Here's what the week looked like, anyway:
Monday: Easy 3 miles
Tuesday: 4-mile pace run
Thursday: 6 miles, negative split (3,3) + BODYPUMP
Friday: Easy 4 miles
Sunday: 8.18-mile long run
If you want to add that up, it's 25 miles. TWENTY FIVE. For one week. And to think - that's just the start. My half-marathon plans used to top out at 25 miles.
Needless to say, there were a few times this week when I felt a bit overwhelmed. I clearly remember at the beginning of Thursday's negative split run, "What the hell was I thinking? My cousin was right. You have to be crazy to register for a marathon." I doubted my ability. My desire. My time. I wondered if I made a mistake. I wondered whether I should have picked a half-marathon as an "A" race.
And then I remembered why I chose the marathon. I chose it because it was my beacon during pregnancy and early post-partum days. It was my hope. It was my savior, if you will.
Thankfully, my body held up better than my mind. My legs felt tired but operational with the increased mileage and harder workouts. My lungs did not explode. I did not collapse in the grass.
I survived. And that's all I have to say about that.