A Tale of Two Runs

It turns out my body was going to make the decision for me. (Yes, I should have known that all along).

I woke up Saturday morning ready to face a 20 miler. I dressed, I ate, I packed my pockets w/ Fig Newtons, and I headed out the door. The morning was cloudy and the day was a bit cooler than I was expecting but it was a good temperature for running. I set off, plotting various routes.

The first mile went off well. I was enthusiastic and confident. However, that proved to be a short-lived experience. My heartrate was increased from the beginning of the run and by mile 2 I realized that it just wasn’t going to be my day. The decision to not run long was not a difficult one for me to make, unfortunately. Other days it would have been a struggle between my brain, my heart and my legs but not that day. I would live to run another day, I decided and then I headed home racking up only 5.6 of the 20 planned miles.

Despite the easy decision, I couldn’t shake the feeling of sadness once I got home. I quit and there are no other ways to describe it. I may have made the “right” decisions but it still means that the right decision was to quit.

As I threw my sweaty (but not sweat I had earned, I thought) clothes in to the laundry basket and climbed in to a hot shower, I was a little down on myself. I’ve run through worse conditions, through legs that were more tired. I’ve willed myself through much tougher mental roadblocks. What was going on that I quit so easily?

I never did find the answer. I went on with my day and slowly the disappointment and sadness melted away being replaced by more important things like spending time with family.

I woke up the next day much earlier than I expected and the first thought that popped in to my head – I want to run. I crawled out of bed, stumbled around getting dressed in the dark and snuck out of my in-laws house, ready for a run in the country. The difference between running that morning and running the previous morning was stark. Where I felt sluggish and tired the day before, I was smooth and energized the next morning. Where I regretted not having the time to run longer that morning, the previous morning I regretted making plans around a long run that ended up being a bust so I had too much time. Where as my pace never warmed up past a crawl on Saturday morning, Sunday morning there was a spring in my step and I just couldn’t hold back.

I ended up running under 10 minute miles without every intending to run at my marathon goal pace. I just started running and I settled in to a fast pace. I don’t’ know that I could have slowed myself down even if I had wanted to because the pace felt so right. Slowing down would have been impossible.

One of the things I love about running faster paces is that there is span of time after the struggle of warming up but before the paces catches up to your muscles and forces you to slow down when the possibilities seem limitless. I really can run close to a 4 hour marathon. After this marathon I really will run a sub-4 marathon. I should sign up for the ultra-marathon I have been eyeballing. I should just keep running and running and running and…

Before I knew I was close to home and I reined in my speed-induced daydreaming. Back to reality, I told myself as I turned down the home stretching, forcing my legs to slow. I didn’t want to experience a blow up or a slow down. I wanted those possibilities to remain just that…possible.

Both Saturday and Sunday, I ended my runs on my own terms. Both times, I made the decision to stop and both times it was the “right” decision to make. Honestly, I’m not even sure what my point is here. I’m sure there is a lesson in there somewhere. What I do know is that Sunday’s run wiped Saturday’s run off the radar and thank goodness for that.

Daily Dozen:
5.22 miles – feeling good, running strong