If anyone ever attempted to argue that running was easy
I would probably judo-chop their ass.
Today was hard.
I wasn't feeling top-notch, although I wasn't feeling bad enough to postpone.
Hal Higgy told me to run 9.
Uta advised runners that we should be at 11.
So I did what Kellyn always does: what I wanted.
I felt that I would satisfy Uta and impress Hal with a center 10-miler.
I hadn't run 10 miles since my half marathon.
I didn't even run 10 miles during my training for the half.
Actually, I told people I did, but it was a complete lie.
I only did 9.25.
So today's run started in pretty mild spirits: not too pumped, not too much dread:
I was wearing my new running skirt though,
so that helped the mood.
I am also seen wearing my most favorite bandana.
Clearly it has no luck value to it,
because by the time I reached mile 5
I had what I will call a "Runner's Crash."
I haven't any idea if that is a real term,
or if this even happens to other runners,
but I had to walk.
I've never walked on a run.
Even at street lights or to let cars pass, I jog in place.
THIS WAS DEFEAT.
My body was all like, "Slow the hizzle down, girlfriend."
And then I remembered the great phrase:
It's not a sprint, it's a marathon.
SO, I allowed myself 2-1/2 minutes to walk
and I talked myself out of calling husband to pick me up at St. Charles and Audubon.
I regulated my breathing,
did a little strecheroo,
and thought of my brother, Rick and all the others unable to be running a 5th mile
and their LIFE marathons.
I strapped my water bottle thing-a-magig back on my hand,
powered on some Chamillionaire
and I was back in business.
Now, as some of you are well aware,
the only hill in New Orleans looks like this:
So I've had to take on to parking garages to train.
I say that like I've already done it.
That is another lie.
Today was my first day of parking garages,
so this was a lovely surprise:
Good thing I wasn't jogging.
I was running that piece.
I had this whole plan in my head of the cops chasing me down
and me screaming,
"Don't stop me, or you will be the reason that there is a heartbreak in Heartbreak Hill!!!"
The good thing about parking garages are this:
Am I not the only one who sees the holy light?
So two parking garages and 3 post miles later,
I arrived home.
I wanted to puke.
I could hardly bend my legs.
I could hardly straighten my legs.
I needed orange Gatorade.
I wanted a massage.
I longed for a nap.
I secretly hoped no one was home
so I could lay face-first on a cool hardwood floor without being pegged by a Cheezit
or a Thomas the Train tank engine.
After all of those feelings went away,
I felt awesome.
I immediately called my Dad
because I've always felt the need to athletically impress him.
I called Husband to let him know that I was alive.
And then I sat down to write this blog because I didn't want to lose my thoughts.
I wanted to remember this exact post on my next run
and any run to follow.
This isn't a sprint, it's a marathon.
I do not follow that in any way, shape or form in any aspect of my life,
but I feel so refreshed knowing that I can control that in a run.
I worked with my body today: I listened, I pushed, I held back and I learned.
Somehow my worst-timed run became the most inspirational.
Now, it's time for a celebratory beer.