A Bad Run

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!