If I could use just one word to sum up our (second) 20-mile training run: disastrous.
(I’m telling you, our smiles are very deceiving — we were both utterly wiped out after this run.)
From the get-go the run was just all sorts of wrong:
I was up in my head. So, so much. I kept fighting with myself, trying to force the mental head games to stop but they just kept coming. (I think I know the main reason for the mental mind games, but I’ll be sharing that in a later post this week, promise)
It was a lot more humid out than I was prepared for. In my mind, I envisioned a nice cool start to the run. Instead, we left the house at 5:35 (yes, at 5:35, not 5:30 or 5:45, but 5:35…) and got a nice smack in the face of humidity. Not cool.
The hubs was dehydrated almost from the start. I think he was staving off the water intake to avoid drinking too much and leaving me with none. (what a guy, seriously, who does that??) Meanwhile I was done with my little water bottle about a third of the way into the run and was shocked that Scott’s much larger water bottle was almost full still. Between that and the fact that I know he didn’t drink enough water the day before, and I instantly sensed dehydration looming for him…and maybe for me too, given the weather.
The bottom line: we had a lot of ‘things’ working against us on Saturday morning.
I’m as stubborn as they come. I wanted 20 miles on Saturday. Really, really, really badly.
…so we got 20 miles done.
But it was ugly. Very, very ugly.
There was walking. A lot of walking (for those of you who know us well, we *never* walk during a run, ever ever ever. This should tell you how desperately tired and worn out we both were).
There was a stop to fill our water bottles at a water fountain in the park. Again, something we *never* do. We usually are fine with the water we brought, or we simply power through and are fine to chug along, regardless. But not today. Nope, we needed that water stop.
There were mini-arguments between us when one of us wanted to turn around, and the other wanted to push forward. (I’ll let you guess who is who in this scenario…heh)
So we fought for it. We fought hard. We walked, we ran, we walked, we ran, and then we ran and suddenly, we were done.
Utterly spent. Disgustingly sweaty. Salty-faced from all the sweat, and dead tired.
…but proud. We fought…and even if we surrendered just a little bit…we won the battle for 20 in the end.
And that’s what matters.
What also matters a heck of a lot? That this didn’t happen during our last long run before taper. (silver lining, perhaps) I need that redemption run in a big way. I (and we) need that 22 miler to give us the confidence boost that will carry us through in Chicago. We’re both determined as hell to make it our best long run yet.
A few lessons learned, and we’re good to go:
…we are not, in fact, invincible. Even *we* have bad runs too.
…we cannot afford to be careless with our prep leading into a long run. More water. More mental fortitude, too.
…we *can* push through, even if our minds try to tell us otherwise.
22 miles on Wednesday: Game. On.