This weekend, I did what I thought was the impossible: I ran 10 miles! I’ve been training for a half-marathon and 10 miles was actually supposed to be my long run last weekend, but because of painful blisters and hot weather, I wasn’t able to do the 10 miles.
I set out for my run on Sunday morning after fueling up with half of a bagel with peanut butter and a banana. The blisters on my feet are healing, so I covered these up with moleskin, put on some running socks that are supposed to keep your feet dry, and decided to wear my Brooks Glycerins for the run. The weather was in the 60s, and although it started to get warm towards the end of my run, I was able to find enough cool, shady spots along the route that I didn’t overheat. I also took water and Gatorade with me, and I found that sipping these alternately kept me feeling hydrated without causing tummy issues. No new blisters formed on my feet.
Really the only issue I had were my legs. By about 8 miles, my legs were TIRED. Those last two miles were sheer willpower and drive on my part. And when I got to 10 miles, I decided I was going to go .10 mile more because a half-marathon isn’t just 13 miles. It’s 13.1 miles, right?
I’ve told myself over these last several weeks that if I could run 10 miles, I can do a half-marathon. When you’ve run 10 miles, what’s 3 miles more? However, as I ran those last couple of miles yesterday, I thought to myself, “I’m just not sure I can do 3 more miles. This is hard.” Self-doubt starting creeping in, and I started trying to convince myself that perhaps I shouldn’t sign up for the half-marathon in 3 weeks. Maybe I should wait and put it off until later in the fall when I just know that I’ll be ready.
Bullshit. That’s just complete bullshit. I’ve come too far and worked too hard to start thinking about quitting now. As my oldest daughter said to me: until the blood stops pumping into my legs and they stop working, I need to keep going.
And then there’s the possibility that I could come in last place at the half-marathon. I run slow. My pace yesterday was 12:30, and so it took just over 2 hours to run that 10 miles. At that pace, it will take me 2 hours and 43 minutes to cross the finish line. I’m sure the post-race party will be well underway at that point. But as my very wise oldest daughter told me, “Who cares? You’ll be crossing the finish line. And all those people that will be cheering for you? None of those people just ran 13.1 miles.”
I have a very wise daughter, by the way.
So today I’m signing up for that half-marathon in 3 weeks. That voice in my head that keeps telling me I’m not ready, that this is too hard of a task and I’m just not up for it can just shut the hell up.