What a long day yesterday was.
Post work, I got home and set to work starting laundry, doing dishes, and chatting with my dad.
Also known as: avoiding the 8 mile run I had committed to.
Eventually, I had no more dishes to do and no choice but to lace up my sneakers and take off running.
I contend that post 7 miles, it’s all about the mental capacity.
By this point, my body’s up for whatever mileage I force on it.
My head though?
That’s a whole different ball game.
Last night I spent some time thinking about endurance running while treading it out.
I’ve never been a fast runner.
In fact, when I was in elementary school, I was the girl who trotted over the mile run finish line 2 minutes after the qualifying time.
I still contend a dozen years later that running 19 laps around a gym is ridiculous.
I was also probably the world’s slowest soccer player.
I spent some serious time chasing people unsuccessfully.
All of this led me to believe that it was running that I hated.
But alas, as I continue signing up for ridiculous races, I’ve figured out that’s not actually true.
I love running.
And my sweet spot is the long run.
My strength in running is that I can pace myself.
I can tough it out.
And even if you can sprint a million times faster than me (and you probably can), I’ll eventually catch up.
As long as I’m listening to Selena Gomez.
In any case, as I made it home at the very steady pace of nearly 10 minute miles, I felt good.
Like I could maybe do another 5.1.
Bring on the half, my friends. I think my head’s finally in the game.