Each week of running has been getting progressively harder for me. I know this is how it's supposed to be. After all, I am getting ready to run 13.1 miles. No one ever said that was easy! And I wouldn't want it to be because if it was then everybody could do it and there would be nothing to be proud of and I wouldn't feel that I had accomplished anything. So in a way, the challenges are good; it means that I am pushing myself and getting to places that I never thought possible. I've now done an eight mile run, which means there are just about five more miles to go before I hit that ultimate goal of mine.
The good thing about the coming week is that my shorter runs stay the same from now on. I will do two five mile runs and one three mile run a week, followed by a long run which I add a mile to each week until I get to twelve miles two weeks before the race. I ran seven miles last weekend and it felt pretty good. I was nervous, but I did it and I felt very good about myself. This week was a little different though, which is ironic because I didn't spend any time sweating about this run like I have in the past. And maybe that's the key; maybe I need a healthy level of fear about my upcoming runs to keep me focused. I know that probably sounds silly; it seems that it would make it easier to just have no doubts that I can complete the runs than it would be to be scared of them. But for some reason, fear works for me. And I really didn't have any for this run and it was hard. I also chose a new route I've never run before, complete with a few very big hills (at least they were big to me!). I ran farther from home than I've ever gone before. The farthest I've been is about a mile out; I tend to just run around my neighborhood and I realize that it's a comfort zone for me and this time I chose to leave it. I was nearly four miles from home at my farthest point, but on the way back each step I took that put me closer to home seemed easier.
I still had two miles to go as I reached my home and I did run around the neighborhood, going whereever my body felt like taking me. As I reached 6.5 miles my body started to shut down on me. I only had a mile and a half left and convincing myself to keep going was hard; my knee was sore, my feet hurt and my toes were going numb. Finally I realized the only way to keep going was to slow way down and just not care about my pace. I get very preoccupied by my pace sometimes and that can really work against me. I know that speed will come with practice and it will come with time. I am trying to just build up my endurance for now, whether that means running at a 10 minute pace or a 12 minute pace (which is what I finished the last mile at). Just finishing the eight miles brought such relief. The other thing about having no fear is that it doesn't bring as much pride at the end. I finished eight miles. So what. It was just another check mark on my schedule and meant very little.
Next Sunday I have an eight mile race that I am sweating bullets for. Now that I have run eight miles and I know how hard it is for me, I'm nervous. But at the same time I know that the atmosphere during a race helps me feel a little better. And sheer will power will get me through to the end.
I just try and focus on my ultimate goal and envisioning myself crossing that finish line after 13.1 miles makes me want to cry. I know I can do it, I just have to practice and I have to believe. If everyone could do it, what would be the fun in that? Why would I feel proud of myself, why would I care? So really, it has to be this way. It has to be difficult and impossible and I have to hate it and love it at the same time.
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