Today I was supposed to run my last scheduled Long Run before the race next weekend. It was supposed to look like this:
But it ended up looking like this:
Obviously, I hate stopping or cutting my runs short, and it is NOT something that I do very often. Sometimes the thought of stopping crosses my mind, but by adjusting my pace a bit I can usually quell such thoughts. But when I’m on a run, and I stop without even THINKING about it first, that’s when I know to listen to the old bod, and do what it says.
By the time I crossed the Bronson bridge today, it was drizzling out and I was wretchedly cold, I was out of breath, with bad cramps, and shin splints. I thought of the Bank Street bridge so far away, and the Hawthorn bridge even farther, and my legs just stopped on their own.
I was so upset, and so frustrated, and so disappointed as I ran back to the starting line. My legs and lungs hurt, and I felt like a failure. I wanted so badly to run the full 10k, and to run it FASTER than I had last week. I wanted to pretend like my training hadn’t changed (even though it did), and that I hadn’t been sick (even though I was), and that I could still beat my time goal next Sunday (which I don’t think I can).
I got home and was a total grouch to Angelo. He finally talked sense into me, making me see that I wasn’t being realistic at all – I hadn’t gone for a run in a week, and I was coming off an illness, and running 10k is HARD, and that I should give myself some slack.
So I did. I mapped out my run, and felt better when I saw that I had run 4.5km before calling it quits. And I know that I can try again tomorrow or during the week to get that last long run in before the race.