I've been running, recreationally, since Poppy was about a month old. I had to stop running when I was about 7 months pregnant with her because of round-ligament pain and was stuck on the elliptical for the remainder of my pregnancy. As soon as she hit one month and I was feeling myself again after the c-section, I did a pitiful mile around the track at our local park. I ran the Dirty Girl mud 5k in Atlanta at the end of April, though it was more of a fun, informal, obstacle course thing than a "real" race. Getting back to a comfortable 3 mile, my go-to mileage for cardio on a regular basis, took a little longer than I had anticipated and my times were much slower than I remembered them being. But, then again, I've never been much of one to keep track of my miles/time/pace/etc. After years of running, I'd still consider myself novice at the sport, but it's always been something I've loved doing. I've been keeping up, for the most part, my 3 mile runs on the treadmill at the gym throughout the summer, so I figured once I decided to start training seriously for the upcoming race, that it'd be a cake-walk to get into. I anticipated the challenge of upping my mileage into ranges I'd never run before, but the beginning would surely be easy, right? I found an 8-week training plan that focuses on just making it over the finish line, with 3 and 4 mile runs during the week, 2 rest days a week, and a long run on the weekends, going up to 10 miles max and tapering off before race day. Perfect. I decided to start the weekend before training "officially" started and jump ahead a couple weeks. I was going to start off with a 6 miler instead of a 4. I laced up my worn out shoes, strapped my iphone on my arm, and headed on post to a safe, familiar housing area with ample sidewalks and friends who lived there and took off. Unfortunately this housing area was nothing but never-ending hills and zero shade. The Runkeeper app told me after the first five minutes that I wasn't even half a mile into this mess and I was huffing and puffing and miserable. I wanted to quit. I was done. There was no way I'd be able to make it to 13 miles at this rate. My time was something like 11+ minute miles, nothing like I thought it'd be. I was a 10 minute miler, MAX. Riiiiiight.
Reality set in and I quit after 3.72 pitiful miles, a full 40 minutes later. I was defeated. I drove home sore, sweaty, disappointed. I whined to Jason about my poor performance and how bad the area was. I couldn't do it.
At some point between then and the next day, I changed my mind from defeat to determination and ran a full 4 miles on the treadmill. My friend Julie, who doesn't love running near as much as I do (or at all) walked along beside me, keeping me distracted with girl talk. I finished in a little over 40 minutes. Maybe I could do this? It was on.
That first week was a huge turning point. By the next Sunday I successfully ran 6 miles in a shadier, prettier area of post. My time was 1:04:16. Better. Much better.
Each week for the next 3 I pounded the pavement. I discovered new trails. I knocked minutes off of my time. I freaked out anticipating my 8 mile run during our visit to Tennessee last weekend. I'm pretty sure I've run that far at some point, but maybe I haven't? If I did I certainly wouldn't know how fast (slow) I did it. But out I went on Sunday morning to the trail I've walked a thousand times on. I turned on Pandora, which I never do as I like to collect my thoughts and enjoy the crunch of leaves and hear a quick, breathy "morning" from any other runners on the trail. But I figured I could use a distraction on a run that would surely take me an hour a half. Apparently it served some motivation as well, I finished in 1:14:02, only 20 seconds later than my 7 miler had been the week before!
This morning I completed my 3 mile recovery run in 24:17! Tomorrow I have an intimidating 10 miles ahead of me. My palms sweat thinking about it. When my alarm goes off at 7 and again at 7:30 I'll probably hit snooze. Jason will have to talk me into just going. Get it over with. The first couple miles may be slow. I'll be trying to talk myself out of it. "I could just stop at 8. Or 6. I'm so tired. It's an off week. I've never run 10 before. I'm wearing out. I'm so thirsty. I want to quit". After the second mile I'm warmed up. I've found my stride. The Runkeeper lady comes on every 5 minutes telling me how awesome I'm doing. I'm going even faster than I have before! I could slow down if I need to! I find my stride. I enjoy the scenery. A great song comes on Pandora and gives me that extra boost to kick it up a little. I promise myself a cookie when I'm done.
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