A Lesson in Running

If anyone ever attempted to argue that running was easy

I would probably judo-chop their ass.

Today was hard.

Physically.

Mentally.

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.

Who's buying?