This was how I spent my Sunday morning:
I was apprehensive about this run. It was just last weekend that I had upped my distance to 5 miles, after hovering at the 4-ish mark for way too long. I kept thinking, Okay, I’m at 4. I have to figure out how to run 9 more???
Talk about daunting.
When I hit 5 miles last weekend, it wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t too great either. I was supposed to do 5 again on Saturday, but we were deep into Operation Big Girl Bed the entire day, and I barely squeezed in a 3 miler before dinner. No way was I ready for 6 miles on Sunday.
Maybe I’ll just do 5 again, I said. Maybe 5.5.
So much of this training thing is a mind game. I’ll never be able to run 6 miles. I can’t imagine running for an hour straight. The thing is, the part of your mind that KNOWS you can do it has to be louder than the part of your mind that tries to convince you that you can’t.
I ran for an entire hour, and finished 6.25 miles. Even I was amazed at my pace. When I was training for Tough Mudder over the summer and running on treadmills at the YMCA, I was barely clocking an 11 minute mile. Whether or not I can keep this pace for 13.1 miles in the hilly Zooma half, I’m not sure. But I can’t stop thinking about how fantastic this run felt. Not once did I feel like I was going to die. Not once did I have to convince myself to keep going. I just did.
And afterward, I was on top of the world. I ran 6.25 miles!
So I’m halfway there. Halfway to a half marathon. As many times as I’ve told myself I wanted to be a runner, I never fathomed actually making it this far and feeling this good about it. I mean, I imagined I would, but making it happen is another story. Along with training my body, I’m also training myself to listen to that part of my mind that knows I can do this. Or at least training it to be louder than the other part.
Also, running 6.25 miles got me this:
Yes, that’s my husband, lovingly soaking and washing my feet. He’s a keeper, for sure.