I had to ask myself (and my “trainer,” my friend Jessica) last night, “Why did I want to do this?!” It seemed like a legitimate question, since I was pretty sure I was dying and it was all my fault. I just had to make a New Year’s resolution to run a half marathon in 2012. I just haaad to. (Am I laying the sarcasm on thick enough?)
Up until then, running had been (gasp!) fun for me, which is weird, since I had always hated running and never ever thought I’d be doing it…willingly (that is, not unless I was being chased by zombies). I had been enjoying myself and was really encouraged by the progress I’d been making. But, as Jess reminded me, I did just take a week off. And not just a week off, I’d added. A week off eating terribly unhealthy Mexican fare and drinking several highly caloric beverages. My body was rejecting anything good for it, as it was rather liking its new lifestyle. (I’m speaking on behalf of my body.)
We ended up doing 5.5 miles (OK, maybe 5.25, but let’s round up, shall we?), and I’m pretty sure by the end Jessica was ready to be done so she wouldn’t have to hear me complain anymore. My knees hurt, my legs were heavy and achy, and was so tiiiired (said in my best whiny voice). But, I finished. And we only walked less than half a mile (according to her. It felt like a lot of walking to me). I was hurting and tired and glad to be done, but I was really pleased with myself.
This Sunday, I am running the Cap 10k. Jessica is not running with me, so I’m nervous. She’s my crutch. I may or may not be calling her during the race. Would that be weird?
Regardless of whether I do well time-wise or even if I walk more than I’d hoped (hey, I did just take a week off from my training), I’m doing it. I’m out there and I’m trying my best, and I think that’s something I can be proud of.