As a quick recap...
When I started running (exactly 14 runs ago), I barely made it to the end of my street before I had to walk a while. And, the first run ended with the giant distance of 3.63 miles. This morning, almost one and a half months later, I finished 9.1 miles.
And it went a little something like this:
When I got home from taking the girls to school, I put on two shirts and a jacket. Because, lest we forget, I am not doing this for the "fun", it's to reduce the jiggle to an acceptable level. So, I want to sweat as much as possible. Then I took off the ankle brace I've had to wear for a couple of weeks because it rubs the skin on my foot raw. It's bad enough walking like a hundred year old man, I don't need to do it like I'm also walking on fire. I strapped on my I-Pod and hit start on the phone app that monitors my speed, distance, calories burned, etc.
The first three miles are the hardest. What gets me to push through? The Rocky theme playing in my head and every boxing documentary I've ever seen. Those shows always have the scene of the boxer running in a hoodie with an I-Pod.
They also have a guy that follows them around in a car offering water.
And, I have to stop myself from shadow boxing on the public streets.
I wonder where I could find one of those guys - you know, for motivation.
Anyway, 1.25 miles in, I start the biggest hill. And, inevitably, half way up I start calling myself names. This hill is not my friend, but it was the goal I made for myself before I took up running.
At mile 3, I hit my stride... this generally lasts until mile 7. During this "blissful" time, I wonder why I thought this was so hard. I even start singing along to my I-Pod.
Around mile 5, I wonder where the people are that are supposed to be handing me a cup of water. I always see that on tv!
7 miles is when my legs start to tighten and my arms start to clench.
At the 7.25 mark, I seriously contemplate passing my towel to the elderly lady on her morning stroll in an attempt to turn this into a relay. Your turn, grandma! I change my mind when she clenches her fists as I approach as if preparing to defend herself against me. Although, at this point, she could probably take me in a fair fight.
7.5 miles in, I start back toward home. This is where I allow my ten walking steps. This is the only time I allow anything less than a steady jog. This is also where I get to the small hill that always surprises me. Maybe it's that my lower body is already turning to jello?
At 8.5 miles I reach the medium hill. This hill got the best of me on my first run, but I have whooped it every time since! This is also where I start hallucinating. I truly start thinking someone's going to notice how hard I'm working, and then they will reward me. Like I said... it's not rational thinking.
I find myself in my driveway at exactly 9.1 miles. It's a little over an hour and a half later. OK, so I'm no speed demon, but I don't think that's too bad considering I'm running up and down hills and around corners and curves. Not to mention the traffic I have to stop for.
Anyway, I've had almost a month and a half of running. I still don't get how people can actually enjoy this, but I know I run because it's a little bit of time where no one is talking to me. Oh, and also because now, when someone is really ticking me off, I can say to myself "If you can go run this off, you might not have to kill them."
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