So how about instead of a melodramatic (like, SO DRAMATIC) tale about my epic journey through running in which I put one foot tragically in front of the other over and over again while trying to change the course of my life and therein the way the world spins on its axis…
Let’s start talking about running how we used to like to talk about running.
Rev your engines, ladies and gentlemen, it’s on November 15th!
(Well, “it’s” is a little hazy since six weeks isn’t really a ton of time to graduate from current turtle speed, but go on and rev ‘em anyway, for shits and giggles)
Motivated by finally putting a race on the calendar, my auto-pilot five miler last night turned into an unintentional progression run, and let me tell you, IT. WAS. AWESOME.
8:41, 8:32, 8:17, 8:04, 7:21 of late-night painful bliss
Seriously, I forgot how great it is to come out on the other side of “OMG I can’t make it… I can’t keep going this fast… I’m going to puke… c’mon let’s just slow down a little!” That last half mile took all the juice, as I’m sure everyone I ran past could see on my face. But fuck if it wasn’t the best/worst feeling in the world. I told myself over and over “you’re good for it… you’re good for it…” and guess what, I was right.
ahh, a victorious pile of sweat-soaked running gear on the bathroom floor… #art
Even if the splits aren’t impressive compared to past-me and that average pace for five miles is slower than my old marathon pace, finishing a run with that burn in my lungs, fire in my legs, and grit in my teeth feels badass no matter how fast or slow you’re going.
Because all that matters is you’re going forward.
Here’s to a new training cycle and many more frantic cool downs begging my stomach contents to stay inside my body!
p.s. This means you’re allowed to ask “What are you training for?” again…