Today, I start out determined. I created a blog post right before I left on my run to create anticipation for myself and to set myself up with a positive mental attitude. I feel good. I'm going to do great! I am prepared to take on a different attitude about the heat and the sun. I am going to just be with the feelings and press through. Maybe I only hate that heat so much because I keep telling myself I hate the heat. Summer is coming, and I need to learn to run in the sun. I am determined. I am strong. And I will do this.
If I cussed in my blog, at this point I would say, "F**K THAT!"
This run was horrible. I was just plain angry.
Let me back up a bit. The first mile was actually great! I feel the little creaks and groans as usual, but I hold my head high, eyes focused forward in determination and strength. Right about mile one, I stop to stretch. It feels great. Even the sunscreen-laced sweat running into my eyes can't upset me. Even the fact that I lost the little towel I tucked into the back of my shorts can't upset me. Even the sunglasses sliding off my nose can't upset me. I am going to have a good run.
I finish stretching and start mile two. Uh oh. Might have stretched too long! Even though it is downhill (mostly), I cannot get my rhythm going again. Hmmm. I try to tell myself, "It's ok. I'm ok. Really."
That's all crap.
Mile three does me in, physically and mentally. It's a long, gradual, uphill climb. It is so hot. So, so hot. (OK, for those of you who may be judging me, I am aware that 72.2 degrees is not that hot in the grand scheme of things. BUT. When you are running - not walking, not on a picnic, but RUNNING - 72.2 degrees feels like 120. I'm just sayin'.) The heat is radiating from my shoes. My actual feet are burning. How is this possible? Sunscreen-laden sweat burns my eyes. I have no towel to wipe the sweat. These damn sunglasses won't stay on and the hill keeps a-comin'.
I remember my husband asking me what it was I was feeling when I felt the need to walk or to stop. It's a good question. I paid attention now. Were my legs hurting? Not really. Was I having a hard time breathing? Sorta, but not bad. Was I in any kind of pain whatsoever? (quick body scan.) Don't seem to be.
Then what is UP?
I truly can't define it. Maybe as I continue I will be able to put words to the strong desire to stop and understand why it is so hard to push through. About halfway up this hill, my body just stops. I do not tell it to, it just does. It stops in the middle of the path, bends over, hyperventilates (well, it felt like it), and walks over to a log and sits down. SITS DOWN? WHAT!?!??!
I try to remember the lesson from Tori. I am wondering what she is up to, but I (she? they get hard to tell apart sometimes) am so annoyed and irritated that I don't care. I am aware that she has some things to say, but I have no energy or desire to work with it. She holds my anger; I was angry; and I had no desire to do the hard work of talking her off the cliff. So there.
I start running again, telling myself to just go slower. A voice inside screams, "You average an eleven minute mile! You CAN'T go slower!!!" Ahhh, the comforting voice of self-contempt.
Here's what was going on. I hit a point of very real frustration. I had started with such determination, yet I was not doing well. I wondered why so many recent runs have been so hard. I wondered how I was able to run 9.3 miles with relative ease (I use the term "ease" loosely.). I laughingly tell people that I don't like to run. What it is that I like (love, really), is the feeling AFTER a run. Amazing Accomplishment. Astounding Achievement. And truthfully, I usually don't mind running. It's never comfortable, but it's been doable. I like the challenge. I like knowing that I can endure the discomfort.
Usually.
Lately, there has been very little success in the endurance. I've struggled and huffed and walked and laid on grass and sat on rocks and felt like passing out. And this scares me. If I don't start enjoying these runs (well, let's be more reasonable and say that if they at least don't stop being hell!) there is no way I can continue. There are way too many runs (57 runs for 262 miles) between now and the half marathon for me to be hating and struggling with so many runs. I'm a little scared.
Finally, somehow, I have one mile left. I have given up any desire to want to make this last mile a better experience. I simply want to end this misery, retreat, and lick my mental wounds in my failure and start over with another day. I am an angry, mental mess and will not try to make this better. This run is a wash. Sometimes, life is just like that.
As I approach the last mile, I am so miserable. I am so HOT. I have walked way more than I ever dreamed. (So often, in fact, that I quit keeping track. Having to think and do that math while I was so HOT was really irritating me.) I think about the people reading this blog. Yes, you. The
fact that I know you are there helps me get through runs. I think of you
as I try to decide whether or not to run that last mile. I am angry and soooo done.
I am four miles in (of a planned five), and I have given myself permission
to stop and chalk this one up to a bad day. But I am conflicted. Will you feel let down because I gave up?
Or will it be more impactful to admit I had a really crappy run and an
extremely bad attitude?
I split the difference. I didn't stop as soon as the giving up feeling came. But I didn't push myself to finish the run either. I picked a spot and stopped. It was half a mile early.
Oddly, in all of this anger, something actually feels good: my awareness. I am aware of what is going on inside of me. I am aware of the voices that are playing the mind game with me. I am aware that I have a choice in how to respond.
And today my choice is to be angry. I am frustrated and scared and annoyed and just plain pissed off. I am going to sit in this feeling for a while, and just let this be a really crappy run. At least I am present in it.
Did I mention it was hot?
