It’s been a long time since I’ve gone running and felt like I was going to die, but I certainly felt like that yesterday. I don’t know if it was the giant ball of stress I’ve been lately, the heat, not having had enough water or eating too close to going running, but I fought hard for 7.5 miles yesterday. Per my discussion with Joel the other day about working harder to meet my new goals, he told me to run 8 miles yesterday. (Yes, he knew I was running the race this weekend.)
I started off, excited about running 8 miles in the gorgeous weather, flying through Battery Park with the sun beating down on my shoulders. I was soaking in vitamin D, and the world was my oyster. Usually when I run, I dislike the first mile or so the most. I wonder why I ever decided this was a good hobby, and why I didn’t just take up something like photography. Or knitting.
After a mile, sometimes two, the adrenaline and runner’s high usually kick in, and I think I can conquer the world. Yesterday, was the other way around. (Also, maybe I ran too fast when I started? I started at a 9:30 pace, which is about where I’m at for a 10K or shorter race, but definitely faster than I can [probably] run a longer race.) Joel wanted me to do 10 minute run, 2 minute walk intervals until I got to 8 miles. Piece of cake, I thought. I usually run 99 percent of my run. (Occasionally, even after all this running, I do still walk if I have to. I’m not a masochist.) I don’t know if the walking made it harder to start running again, or what, but I went from running 10, walking 2, to running 6, walking 2, to running as long “as I could” and walking as long “as I needed to” by the end. (I put those in quotes since I do think part of it was mental, that I was just so frustrated at myself at that point that I thought I couldn’t do it.)
Around Chelsea Piers (about 4 miles in), I really thought I was going to pass out/throw up/throw up and pass out in it. I stopped and bought a bottle of water, took some deep breaths, answered some e-mails on my iPhone, just recharged my head and my batteries for a few minutes. I am pretty sure I wouldn’t have been able to finish otherwise. The one awesome part about this run? If you start in the Financial District and are planning on going to a race expo in Chelsea, 7.5 miles is going all the way up to 52nd Street and then turning around. 52nd Street! That’s nuts!
I went to the expo, and I must say I was kind of disappointed. It was a teeny tiny little expo. The Disney expo and the Army Ten-Miler expo were both massive events, with every running vendor you can imagine. I was hoping to get some kind of fun shirt, but no dice. I walked in, and picked up my bib and bag and almost spilled out the contents of my bag all over the floor, because I was so out of it. Meg and I walked back to my apartment from the expo, and I drank half a Muscle Milk I got at the expo on our way, and I felt much more human.
This is a really really long post, but writing about my crappy run makes me feel better about it. I went for a nice, easy two-miler this morning (which happened to end, oh, right at Dunkin’ Donuts) and stretched out afterwards. I’m feeling much much more ready for tomorrow’s race.
Bad training run, good race, right?