I’m about to head out for my long Sunday run. Going 10 miles today which, miraculously, has become a distance that seems like no big deal. It never ceases to amaze me what my body can get used to doing.
A year ago, being able to run for three miles without stopping or wanting to puke was the goal. And not that many months ago, six miles was my proudest accomplishment. Then 10, now 13. Who knows, maybe sometime soon I’ll look back and think “gosh, 13 miles — how easy.”
A week ago tomorrow I did my first half marathon race.I made some silly rookie mistakes probably. The most notable is that I got there SO early — like at the same time as the race organizers setting up the aid stations. I could have gotten another hour of sleep. There was a sliver lining though: pristine porta potties. I got to use them before they were all pooped up.
I finished a full 30 minutes faster than I expected to. It was so much fun. I had a rough patch through mile six, but I kept thinking “after you pass this mile you will have run further than the distance left to finish so just keep going.” Somehow that worked. Mostly, the race was just really fun. I felt so amazing, so joyful the whole time. And, of course, after about an hour my brain did that awesome runner’s high thing it does where everything I’m passing looks somehow more in focus, where I’m sure that everything –other people, blades of grass, animals — are cheering for me specifically.
It’s a lot like this actually (complete with “WHY AM I HERE?!” screaming leading up to the “high” feeling):
Need proof — check out the smile on my face in this picture below… this is right as I crossed the finish line exactly 2 hours after I started. I couldn’t feel my legs (until I stopped running that is, then … ouch) and it’s actually a little hard to remember exactly what I was thinking in this shot but I do know I was completely happy. Which, if you know me, is saying a lot.