Yesterday’s long run called for 3 hours, or 16 miles whatever came first. Let me tell you, it was not 16 miles. It was almost 12.
I woke up at 6 but did not manage to get myself out of the house until closer to 7. I was having a hard time motivating myself. I did not want to go, I don’t know why. I usually enjoy my runs but this one I was dreading. I posted on my HRT FB Group and some of the other ladies rallied to help me get out the door.
It was nice and cool, still in the 60s. I had prepped my hydration pack the night before, filled it most of the way and then threw some ice cubes in. Out the door I went.
I tried to settle in to my miles and put the thoughts out of my head. “Why am I doing this? Maybe the marathon was a mistake. These runs are so long, I’m away from my husband and kiddo. It’s only going to get harder. This is miserable. I am hot. I am tired. I want to quit.”
Eventually I was able to put that out of my head and move. The first hour flew by pretty quickly. I bargained with myself that instead of going out for an hour and a half, I’d go out for an hour and fifteen, and then run in the opposite direction at the start of the trail to make up the difference.
When I struggle on a run, I make a point to look around and appreciate where I am and what I’m doing.
The trail I run on is nothing particularly remarkable, but being outside is a gift. Having a place to run is a gift. Being able to run is a gift. I don’t ever want to forget that.
I finished out my run and spent the rest of the day palling around with my hubby and kiddo.