Remember how great I felt running the other day? I felt equally as horrible yesterday. I think I was being punished for writing about how wonderful and amazing and super my run was; somebody of a higher power didn’t care for me to enjoy such an activity as much as I did and flaunt my happy feelings. I should have known it couldn’t be true: “Training for a marathon? Not supposed to be fun you stupid human. You shall pay.” (said in God-voice, naturally). Of course Law School BF and Bruschi the Mutt were having a grand old time, chatting about inane subjects I would normally laugh at and appreciate in their stupidity, running at a faster pace than usual and making me mad it was so easy for them. Literally as soon as I set foot on the pavement, I had to convince myself every step was going to feel better than the last and that yes, I could complete the remaining 11.99 miles of my 12 mile run.
Have you ever had that feeling that you are just plain doing the wrong thing? I don’t mean morally, because those stories would take months to tell, let’s be honest, but the feeling that what you are doing is okay to do and maybe even good for you but absolutely, horribly wrong for you at that particular moment in time? That’s what I felt. For 12 miles. That’s almost two hours in Average Josephine time. And, if my calculations are correct, that’s 12 miles and two hours too long to do anything that doesn’t feel right. However, at this point in the game, I can’t afford to skip any training just because it doesn’t feel right. Imagine what the higher powers would think of that?
Some of my weaker thoughts:
Mile 1: I wish Law School BF would shut up already. I wish he would go home and do his stupid law school homework and be miserable too and just leave me alone and stop frickin’ talking as if I ever have once cared what he has to say.
Mile 3: I’m only a quarter of the way done? Are you kidding me? I would rather break my ankle right now on that dirty, nasty pile of old snow and have to drag myself home down Route 2 while 18 wheelers barely miss flattening me into the gravely pavement than run the marathon.
Mile 6: I’m starving. I’m so stupid for not eating a snack before we left. What kind of idiot leaves for a two hour run without shoving some food down her gullet first? Stupid. Idiot. Moron. Loser.
Mile 9: Alright, I dropped off boyfriend and dog. I had a snack and some water. I went to the bathroom. I plugged in some music. It’s 6pm and still light out; it’s sunny and not too cold. There is no reason I should hate this right now. I have to do this. I have to. I hate my life.
Mile 11: I still have a mile left? What the heck kind of dumdum made up this horrible training plan? What sort of idiot follows that obviously stupid training plan? Can’t I be finished already? If mile 11 in the marathon isn’t even half way done what kind of failure am I going to be? If I just passed out in the street right now would someone pull over and drive me home or would they just think I was a drunken bum passed out and ignore me?
Then, I was done. And I felt great about it. And I forgot all the horrible things I said to myself, and I was psyched about running, and when I got in the apartment I told the boyfriend how the rest of my run had been grand. That’s the thing about training: sometimes you have to struggle to do it (and you want to kill yourself and everyone around you and you hate the world, etc., etc.), but when you finish you feel like the strongest and smartest and most accomplished person in the world and you are so proud of yourself.
I’m sure I’ll repeat this entire process more than once in the next month and a half, but for now I’m still feeling great about finishing that run yesterday. Go me.
Have you ever had that feeling that you are just plain doing the wrong thing? I don’t mean morally, because those stories would take months to tell, let’s be honest, but the feeling that what you are doing is okay to do and maybe even good for you but absolutely, horribly wrong for you at that particular moment in time? That’s what I felt. For 12 miles. That’s almost two hours in Average Josephine time. And, if my calculations are correct, that’s 12 miles and two hours too long to do anything that doesn’t feel right. However, at this point in the game, I can’t afford to skip any training just because it doesn’t feel right. Imagine what the higher powers would think of that?
Some of my weaker thoughts:
Mile 1: I wish Law School BF would shut up already. I wish he would go home and do his stupid law school homework and be miserable too and just leave me alone and stop frickin’ talking as if I ever have once cared what he has to say.
Mile 3: I’m only a quarter of the way done? Are you kidding me? I would rather break my ankle right now on that dirty, nasty pile of old snow and have to drag myself home down Route 2 while 18 wheelers barely miss flattening me into the gravely pavement than run the marathon.
Mile 6: I’m starving. I’m so stupid for not eating a snack before we left. What kind of idiot leaves for a two hour run without shoving some food down her gullet first? Stupid. Idiot. Moron. Loser.
Mile 9: Alright, I dropped off boyfriend and dog. I had a snack and some water. I went to the bathroom. I plugged in some music. It’s 6pm and still light out; it’s sunny and not too cold. There is no reason I should hate this right now. I have to do this. I have to. I hate my life.
Mile 11: I still have a mile left? What the heck kind of dumdum made up this horrible training plan? What sort of idiot follows that obviously stupid training plan? Can’t I be finished already? If mile 11 in the marathon isn’t even half way done what kind of failure am I going to be? If I just passed out in the street right now would someone pull over and drive me home or would they just think I was a drunken bum passed out and ignore me?
Then, I was done. And I felt great about it. And I forgot all the horrible things I said to myself, and I was psyched about running, and when I got in the apartment I told the boyfriend how the rest of my run had been grand. That’s the thing about training: sometimes you have to struggle to do it (and you want to kill yourself and everyone around you and you hate the world, etc., etc.), but when you finish you feel like the strongest and smartest and most accomplished person in the world and you are so proud of yourself.
I’m sure I’ll repeat this entire process more than once in the next month and a half, but for now I’m still feeling great about finishing that run yesterday. Go me.
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