“The difference between the mile and the marathon is the difference between burning your fingers with a match and being slowly roasted over hot coals”
-Hal Higdon, famous marathon coach
This weekend was a step-down, just 8 miles. It was tough, though. I was just so tired. Tired from a 40 mile bike ride the day before. Tired of having my (fill in the blank with whatever body part you'd like) hurt. Tired of wondering if my body is actually going to hold up for this. Tired of not enjoying my run.
There I was on one of my favorite trails, on a beautiful Sunday morning, and I wasn't appreciating it at all, because I was running through there, not taking time to stop and enjoy the scenery, to smell the forest. So I just sat down on a log and cried. I just let it out, whatever pent up stress and worry was in there. Not a big sobby cry, just a little weep. But it felt good to just stop. To not have to run. To enjoy the smell of the trees. And then to get up and finish my run.
It felt good to have that little moment, and I felt stronger for the rest of my run. But apparently I didn't get it all out of my system. I got home and made myself and egg sandwich, and was barely able to keep my head up while eating it. I just wanted to crumple up and sleep forever. Jim was waiting for me to eat and change so we could go ride horses. I told him I needed 5 minutes to lay down. So I plopped my legs up the wall and took a few deep breaths... and started to cry again. It was just all too much. I needed rest badly. So he went on without me, and I stayed on the floor with an ice pack and watched Biggest Loser re-runs for an hour or so, and cried some more.
And then I was better. He came back and picked me up, and went for a great ride. And then I came home and had a relaxing evening at home, watched a light-hearted movie, ate lots of good food, and was in bed by 9.
It amazes me how emotional this training has been. I don't quite understand it.
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