A storm rolled in shortly before I finished work today, and I felt instantly charged and eager to go for my Tuesday afternoon run, even though I really wasn’t feeling like going for a run. By the time I left work and got home the rain was sparse but still enough to keep me hopeful. I walked in the door and my resolve to run crumbled into a pile of ash at my feet. I spent a few minutes chatting with each of my boys before changing out of work clothes into running clothes. I put on one sock and shoe then stalled. Did I really want to go for a run?
No. Yes! Not really. Maybe. Ugh! I should. I could skip it. I can do it. Groan.
The second sock and shoe were thrown on before I could change my mind again, and I stepped out the door. The rain had stopped completely, and I could see blue sky approaching. The air was quickly becoming muggy. I shouldn’t have worn my jacket. Even though my sore quads and glutes immediately protested every step, I planned to run 6 kilometres, but it didn’t take long for me to start questioning that decision.
It isn’t uncommon for my runs to start out feeling sluggish for the first 5-10 minutes, so I wasn’t concerned with the initial lack of energy and enthusiasm; however, my body only complained all the more. I could have survived the sore quads and glutes; they would benefit from the exertion. But then my right shin started hurting. It wasn’t too bad. I probably could have ignored it, but it was persistent and nothing about the run felt easy or comfortable. I felt about as graceful as an elephant on a tightrope. Each step was a struggle, plodding, almost painful. At the 2K mark I decided to cut my run short and turn around, so I ran 4K instead of 6K. Even then I had to grind out the final kilometre.
I need to start my official marathon training this month, probably next week. Most training plans call for 5 days of running a week, but that isn’t practical for me at all. It will be a challenge to run 3 times a week, so I am going to need to force myself to stick with it.
My husband told me tonight that he would be okay with me dropping out of the marathon and focusing on the powerlifting training. Oh my that is so tempting! But I know that I would not be happy with myself for giving up. I do want to run this marathon, even though it scares the crap out of me and is extremely intimidating. One marathon is all that I want to do! 42.2 kilometres in my 42 year. That’s the goal, and then I can go back to shorter, more manageable runs that won’t interfere with lifting heavy things.