Okay guys, let’s just once and for all commit to no more running between 8 a.m. and 8 p.m. in August. I don’t know why I still have not learned this lesson after multiple occasions of sweat-induced blindness and humidity-induced slowness.
Being the valedictorian of poor running decisions that I am, I skipped outside yesterday at 11:30 a.m. Not for a peppy jaunt around the block, but prepared to do the longest run I’ve done in about five months. Don’t worry, all my tips and tricks will be featured in the book deal coming down the pipe any day now, “How to Sabotage Your Novice Running with a Completely Idiotic Training Schedule.” Just keep checking Amazon.
I like to think I only attempted this feat of lunacy because it had just stormed, the clouds were blocking most of the sun and it was still drizzling. But we all know the real reason was that Addison’s lunch time was fast approaching and if I had to sliver one more piece of fruit this week into microscopic bits, that paring knife was going to end up square in the wall after a mango slaughtering. Not ideal mothering.
Out I went, nice and slow. My knees and shins protested all week about performing general tasks like standing and walking, so I knew I needed to say a polite screw you to my pace.
Florida saw my screw you, and raised me disappearing cloud coverage and a spike in temperature halfway through my ”run,” which turned into a 2.5 mile jog, 1 mile hobble, and 0.5 mile survival.
I guess there are silver linings. I did actually complete four miles on my feet, I disproved the hideous lie that “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” at mile 3.75 when I was presumably dead by medical definition and most certainly weaker, my tempo shorts farmer tan is coming in beautifully after just a few runs, and the best part, my husband had to cut up my kid’s strawberries.
Now, I know it was only four miles. But according to my top secret, too scared to fully commit to it half marathon training plan (!), that was my first long run.
And boy did that last mile bring back a flood of aching, nauseous memories about how much long runs suck. How after a certain point, your mind starts going batty and taunting you: “Walk walk walk walk.” “There’s NO WAY you can finish this.” “You’d be going faster if you were walking.”
What a jerk. Thankfully, I couldn’t hear that catty little snot towards the end because of the steady buzzing in my ears, indicative of the early stages of heat stroke. But still.
It was a sweaty little reality check that, guess what, running is still hard. But I still love
it (?!). Or I may actually be delusional from sun poisoning.