Regardless of the immersion in nature I had, I was pretty discouraged about how terrible I felt on Saturday morning. I decided to take an unscheduled day off on Sunday, just because I felt like my legs needed a race, even though my mileage and speed hasn't been what it used to, I think my legs and body have had difficulties with the adjustment of being a runner again.
Once again, today, I had nothing to do. Therefore I just slumped around the house and ate anything that didn't normally belong to a full meal. It was when I began to think about running where that pesky cough came back. After lying dormant for many weeks, the attack of the flem creature once again came to be a fear for my lungs. I thought about not running. I was pretty dead set on not running, but then I just said, "What the hell?". I laced up the shoes and took off just before dinner.
A runner normally keeps sane during racing or training but talking to themselves through an inner monologue. It's like an inner coach, which says encouragement or advice or just consoling words during a runner's most difficult hour of pain. A runner's inner monologue can be their best friend, or their worst enemy. For me, today, it was both.
I started out going over the strategy for the three miles in my head, "Take it slow for the first two, stay strong, and then have something left for that last mile, because that mile is the absolute worst." I ran the first one and a half miles just like my inner monologue told me to. It was when I turned around when things had a change of plans.
On the run back, I was telling myself the same thing, until some big ass runner with a goofy stride came out of a side street and ended up right next to me. To keep things from being awkward I went a little bit ahead of him. Then those damn awkward goofy footsteps were loud and approaching. I obviously didn't look back but hearing that ungraceful stomping was more than I can bare, so I began to pick up the pace more than before.
I didn't hear my monologue until I hit the Post Road, and this time it was mean to me. "What the hell are you showing off for some, goofy mother fucker? You're now going to be shit for that last mile." I then switched gears and tried to be more positive, because I knew that if I got into my head it would be the end of me. "Quit being so negative, you're going to be fine. You just need to take each hill as it comes."
...and that's just what happened. I was strong and I hit every hill with head on vengeance. There was a moment, where a blonde girl was a little while ahead of me. I decided to try to catch her, and I thought to myself, "Huh, this is the first girl I've actually chased in the context of running." And unlike other situations, I was successful this time. I passed her on the other side of the street, just to make sure that I didn't scare her, and if she had pepper spray, it would be bad day for both of us. I finished strong, feeling good and not wanting to die, which is always a good start.
No comments:
Post a Comment