Yesterday morning I got up early and ran ten miles. TEN MILES, people. This is all part of my half marathon training plan, but seriously. I really didn’t think I could do it.
Running is hard. Go on a treadmill right now and try to run for 10 minutes straight. It’s hard, right? Though I believe mileage accumulated on a treadmill should count for double miles. Treadmills suck and should be banished to hell along with people who wear socks with sandals and those who don’t use their blinkers when they drive.
I started the training plan about 8 weeks ago. Running three times per week, slowly adding mileage to avoid an injury. My shin splints are still in effect, but have been way better than I thought they’d be. The first hurdle was the 8 mile long run. I figured I’d just run 4 miles from my house and then turn around and run 4 miles back. But do you know that to run 4 miles from your house, you have to run really, really far away. And hello, it’s summer in Wisconsin. 90 percent humidity? HELLO?
But I did that one. As I was heading home I ran past Panera (and yes, contemplating running in and getting a bagel) and saw a little old man getting into his little old man car. I wasn’t yet delirious enough not to notice his personalized license plate. First of all, it was a veteran plate, the cute little old guy was probably in WWII, I guessed, like my grandpa. (My grandpa joined the Navy when he was 17 and couldn’t swim. He had his identical twin brother take the swimming test twice, so they could both join together.) Anyway, I noticed the little old guy’s license plate said, “Run 262”.
Good Lord, I thought. If this little old man, seriously probably 80 years old, and a VETERAN could run a marathon, what the hell was I complaining about? Eight miles and it’s hot? Wah, wah, wah. I picked up the pace.
Yesterday as I was running my 10 miles, I found myself running up a hill on the street where I ran my first ever organized 5K race. It was in 2005 and a fundraiser for brain cancer research, which claimed the life of my other grandpa (who was also a veteran. And a butcher. Not too sure what he’d think of having a vegetarian granddaughter).
I remember vividly running that race. My natural competitiveness came through as I huffed and puffed up that hill. It seemed like such a big hill 5 years ago. And yesterday? I hardly even noticed it.
I though back to that girl. On the cusp of getting married, just starting to get into running. Having no idea that I’d compete in three triathlons in the next few years (including one 4 months after having the most awesome baby ever). She was working in a job she hated. Good thing she stuck it out because now she’s got an awesome job, with an unbelievable husband, baby, dog and house.
So that’s one major accomplishment down. Add three miles to yesterday and my summer goal is met. And it’s a good thing that I get to sit on my butt at my desk all day cuz hooo doggy. My legs HURT.