Every runner knows that you have good running days and bad running days.
My long run this Saturday was a bad one.
I'm not sure what made it bad??
Perhaps the beef stew the night before was a little too hearty.
Maybe it was the blanket of snow that gave me a scare.
Or it could have just been that I didn't want to run because I didn't want to run.
All I know is that I did everything to back out.
I texted my Dad about the weather, hoping he would say to sit it out.
Instead he gave me a "You can do it!" text right back.
I messaged my northern teammates.
I have no clue why I expected sympathy from them.
About 80% of my team runs in mounds of snow daily.
One of them even posted sweat icicles hanging from his face after his run.
My most favorite teammate Jen rocked one hell of a shiner thanks to ice.
Another went to the ER to stitch up his forehead from his slippery run.
Part of being on an inspirational team includes plenty of inspiring teammates.
I got flooded with Yes You Can! messages.
And really, yes I could.
So off I went.
The beginning was tough.
I was probably being over cautious of the road conditions.
I mean, let's be honest, 1 inch of snow doesn't really wreak havoc.
But I was taking my time. Watching every step.
Convincing myself that every wet patch I saw was ice.
After about 4 miles, I felt a little more comfortable, and it was actually quite peaceful.
Well, until I realized that my loop wasn't long enough.
In retrospect, I think that changing my course half way through was a bad idea.
I'm a creature of habit. I like running loops.
I know where I'm at. I know how far I have left.
It gives me something to look forward to and thus, something to push for.
So when I thought I was at mile 8 of 13, and my GPS told me otherwise, I was pissed.
I had to improvise a couple miles, which threw me off balance mentally.
I never walked. I never stopped.
I finished, but absolutely, positively felt every dern mile of that run.
I was so tense that my neck hurt.
Post-run photo. Quite literally could not smile.
A terrible photo.
And truth be told, I took like 15, and this was the best one.
My recovery wasn't any better.
Maybe it was the leftover beef stew? I really want to blame the stew.
Who knows, but I could hardly walk up the stairs afterwards.
To get down, I went step by step on my rear.
Getting into bed, you'd think I was a crotchety old man.
I did everything right.
I put the weekday runs in.
I went to boot camp.
I drank lots of water. Even electrolyte water.
It was just a bad run.
But as my Dad said in reply to my whining that this run was worse than birthing a baby,
"Had to be done. It's 'good' pain."
The good news is that it's a new week!
and better yet, it's a recovery week.
This weekend, I only have to run 10 miles,
which mind-blowingly sounds like a breeze to me.
177 miles logged in so far.
283 more to go before the big 26.2.
11 weeks until I take on Boston!