There are good days, and there are bad days. The end.
I'm three weeks away from my second half marathon, and I've been feeling incredibly unprepared, overwhelmed, and fail-tastic. Certainly the holidays got in the way of my aggressive training, but even since I'd been back I hadn't made the strides in distance that I had hoped. Perhaps, also, is the fear in the back of my mind in doing this race completely solo. Not only has my MBF search turned out low numbers of applicants, but my running partners are dropping like flies. And so, three weeks to go, I'm the only one running and I seriously question if I can do that.
On Thursday I was granted a few extra free hours and a lovely 78 degree afternoon and I thought, this is the perfect time for my 10-miler. I geared up and hit the trail. The pain started in my right instep. It was constant and nagging, but I trudged onward. It began to radiate up my leg, through my entire shin, which now felt as if it weighed 40 pounds. I stopped, at a mile maybe, to stretch it more. The sound it made (along with the feeling I felt) was that of a slow gentle ripping. Nothing that you'd want to hear or feel at this point, if ever. I started running again. All the while I thought about how heavy my leg felt, how the pain was just sitting there, how hard this was, how alone I felt, how I couldn't do this. At about 2.5 miles I realized I was slowly crying, mostly from the pain, and I decided to turn around and head back. The definition of a bad day. I was afraid more than before that I just simply wasn't ready and couldn't do this.
I planned to try again, ten miles, on Saturday morning. I asked some running buddies if they'd go too. None of them were up to the full ten mile challenge, but they agreed to start with me, keep me slow, get me going. I was convinced I just wouldn't have the internal motivation to get through the whole ten miles alone. Let's be honest, I'm not a runner. In my lifetime I've only run a distance of ten miles or more three times, a distance of five miles or more maybe nine times. Friday night came and went, I was nervous and anxious. I came home early and tried to sleep. I woke up and saw the dark sky at 6am, and the weather report - 33 degrees and windy. Awesome. I went through my normal pre-run prep, and waited for the texts to roll in. Which they did. First KD, sick with the Cedar Fever. Then LD, overtired and unmotivated. Then CS, wanting more sleep. I had been afraid of this very thing. But I continued to bundle up. I put on my running pants, a tank top, a long sleeved running shirt, a t-shirt, my running jacket, my gloves, the iPod, and laced up my trusty kicks. And I headed out to the trail.
It was cold, to say the least. I was rockin' the CD mixes that Melanie made for my Rock n' Roll Race, and I started slow. My leg, it felt heavy. I started to get nervous. But, I kept going. After about 2 or so miles my leg was loosened up. And I was in a groove. I felt good, the trail felt good, everything felt good. I know that the pain I felt on Thursday was real, but on Saturday I had the ability to not let it get to me. After 4 or so miles I took a wrong turn around the longhorn dam and did a tour of some of the crappiest neighborhoods that East Austin has to offer while looking for the dam entrance. While doing this I couldn't help but think of the one and only time I'd been up around the dam before (Obviously, I was thinking about it, I was trying to remember where to go...). That was the first time I'd done 10 miles ever, I was with RO'D and KD, and I was hurting. It was long, I was tired, I was sore, and I struggled so hard to finish. I was pleasantly surprised by how different this was. I was good, I was happy, I was in this running zone where I wasn't even looking at the time, not the norm for me. Once on the south side of the lake I was headed directly into what I've since heard described as "gale force winds". I'm not sure if this is accurate, but it's pretty damn close. It was blowing so hard, and I was running up some hills on Lakeshore and Riverside that at one point I questioned whether I was making forward progress at all. In my last two miles I realized I was still running, I hadn't yet broken down into extended stretches of walking. I hadn't come up with reasons why it would be ok to stop, or excuses for why I was bad at this. By the time I finished I felt so good about my now 11-mile run and the morning in general that I almost didn't care about the time. It was certainly the best run I'd ever had. And the time, it was pretty great! The definition of a good day. I felt accomplished and a little more sure of being able to do this thing. Still nervous to stand alone at the starting line waiting to go, still wondering if I'll talk myself out of it.
This morning I woke up early to go out to the 3M half marathon. I wasn't running it, but I had signed up to be a volunteer - something I vowed to do after San Antonio. I was a course marshal and stationed for two hours on an entrance ramp near 360 directing runners on the course and away from the woods. It was freezing, and I was standing there all alone, but once the runner's started coming it was amazing to see. I was told I could go at about 8am, but I stood there for almost another half an hour to just watch and cheer and encourage. I saw a few people I knew, and "talked to" numerous that I didn't. On my way home I got caught up in the race route at a different point, and wasn't the least bit annoyed to be separated from the warmth of my bed for that much longer. I was surprised by the feeling I had, I was envious. I wanted to be out there running too. I wanted to be a part of the fun. I wanted to be running, because I am a runner. I'm a runner who has good days, and bad days. The end.
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