OK, this weekend I ran back-to-back 19-milers and really, it wasn’t as bad as I expected. Truly!
I did have to fudge the runs up a day to Sunday and Monday, instead of Saturday and Sunday. But like Hal Hidgon says, you do what you gotta do. (I don’t know if he ever really said that, but maybe he did.)
Anyway, Sunday afternoon, MM and I took off for the first 19-miler.
I was NOT in a good mood. I felt icky and my stomach was unsettled, and this was before we even ran a step.
So of course this soon became MM’s fault. (Poor dude, don’t know why he sticks with me.)
We ran from his house to the end of the Coastal Trail at Kincaid Park and back. This was exactly 19.2 miles.
|This pic is from summer. Imagine it without the leaves and green and that’s how it looked Sunday.|
By the third mile, I told MM to please go ahead.
Then I became furious at him for running ahead. I mean, who did he think he was, running faster than me?
Well, he always runs faster than me but nicely runs my pace when we run together.
I got bitchy. I’m embarrassed to admit how childish I became.
So instead I’ll throw in a few nice photos to soften the mood.
|Cook Inlet on a spring day.|
Those are the only pictures I took. MM tried to take some of me, but I screamed at him to please not. I know–I am so wonderful some times.
So this is a picture of me that isn’t really a picture of me.
This is how I felt for most of the run. Like a blurry stretch of pavement. Like a bunch of old leaves beside the trail. Like …. okay, you probably get it.
I tried positive mantras. I tried writing in my head. Nothing lifted me out of my funk.
Finally I imagined that I was Deena Kastor and suddenly I was running, by god. My stride was fluid and I was moving because I was winning the Chicago Marathon and ….
I glanced down at my Garmin and I was running 1.5 minutes faster than my long run pace, which was not a good thing because a few miles later I ran out of steam.
Right before the last mile before the turnaround point, which is all uphill.
|Photo credit: Not sure, got this pic from the Internet. Thanks, whoever took it. And isn’t Anchorage nice in the summer?|
So MM is running ahead of me up the hill. He’s flying up that hill and I’m struggling and gasping and by the time I get to the top, there he is, standing there waiting for me. He looked so calm and rested that I became furious.
“You aren’t supposed to stand,” I yelled, like the big baby I am. “You’re supposed to be running in place. You can’t rest while I’m still running.”
Yeah, I really said that. I’m really that mature. Needless to say we had a bit of a spat but finally cleared it up right around here, where the bridge is (this is also the turnaround point for the Big Wild Run Marathon, so I suppose it’s my happy place). In fact, we had a wonderful and deep talk about some deep things we needed to discuss. It was actually very lovely and kinda romantic.
|Again, a summer photo but what the heck, eh?|
Running can tear down your defenses and leave you vulnerable and shivering and scared. It can bring out the worst in you, yes, but sooner or later, if you keep running, it will also bring out the best in you. Which is why I love, love, love long distance.
Yesterday’s second 19-miler was uneventful. I was sore for the first 3 miles but then smoothed out. I ran alone, so there was no one to yell at when it got rough. I did get a lot of writing done in my head, which was nice. Wish I could remember now, though. At the time I was sure that it was really, really good stuff.
Running: Weekly total: 54 miles (!!)
Reading: Self-Help, by Loorie Moore. Love, love, love this collection of short stories. Awesome!