So, have I mentioned I'm training for a half-marathon? I know, I know - I talk about it a lot. It's a big deal in my universe. I'm trying to be less obnoxious about it. Operative word: trying.
In my training, I've been running some pretty long distances. My personal best is 12 miles, which I've done twice. Most of my training runs are now between 8 and 10 miles, gradually working up to a 14 miler in the weeks before the big race. Now, when you run as slowly as I am, it takes a long time to cover that kind of distance. Most of my big runs have been with other people: either the Galloway group or my various running buddies. This weekend, I attempted to go it alone.
It was a beautiful morning - a bit misty from rains the night before. The temperature was reasonable for mid-August. The trail was completely deserted. I could hear the chirp of the birds and the rustling of the squirrels in the brush. There was a creek babbling under me for part of the time. The world was peaceful, silent, tranquil.
It was torture.
As the miles went by, I found myself fighting to stay focused and in the moment. Usually when I'm running, I get kind of a zen state where the issues I'd been turning over in my mind are cast in a different light and suddenly seem manageable. When I run with a partner or group, there is just enough chit-chat to keep me energized and present. When we lapse into silence, I do some serious thinking. But it's always a pleasure to pull my head out of the clouds, shake it like an etch-a-sketch and dive back into conversation. There's something invigorating about being able to bat around ideas and observations. It keeps me from getting bored.
Now, I realize that running is supposed to be a deeply transformative experience that brings me to a higher plane of awareness. (Wait, maybe that's meditation. Yoga? Shopping? I get confused.) But when I'm out there alone, the main emotion I'm feeling is...boredom.
Having music helps, but for some reason, the shuffle function was not operating for my playlist - so I was stuck with the same old tunes. Predictability is my enemy when it comes to the long run.
So Sunday, I ended up cutting my run short. I did 5 miles instead of the planned 10. I started to beat myself up about it. You know the drill, Jeez, why are you so lazy? Don't you want to be successful? You're not trying hard enough. (I'm really starting to feel that that voice in my head is a mean bitch.)
So I asked myself, Why are you doing this? Why are you out here at 6am on a Sunday morning when you could be asleep and dreaming happily? The answer? Because I need to be. I need to feel the pounding of my heart and the straining of my legs. I need to breathe the fresh air and feel the sun on my skin. If I don't run, I don't function properly. I'm not running to prove anything to anyone. I'm not running because I'm out to break any records or set a standard. I'm doing it because it feels good. Because I enjoy it. Because it's fun.
And so cutting off my run a bit early because it wasn't fun seemed perfectly reasonable. Will I pay for it later? Maybe, but who will I be paying? In this instance, cutting it short helped me to silence that bitchy inner voice and helped me to remember exactly why I'm pounding away on this path.
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