Dear readers, I just wasn’t feeling the love today. I had such high hopes too: 20 miles at a leisurely pace; no big woop. But given how tired I felt this morning, 20 miles turned into 17 (give or take). I was thrilled to see yesterday’s downpour was a no show; even though it was overcast it looked to be a fabulous day for running. I loaded up my iPhone with tunes, strapped on the fuel belt, stepped outside and, Crap! It started to rain.
Back indoors to grab my raincoat. I’d be doing this run come Hell or high water (perhaps literally). By the time I ran over the ridge by our house I was sweating bullets, so the raincoat came off (fortunately the raindrops had petered out as well). My darling and I kept a slow, steady pace, and despite a few aches and pains, I was feeling good.
Just after 5 miles we stopped at the Locks for a pee and water break, then watched as a huge barge floated through. While I welcomed the break, my legs protested as we started up again. My darling wasn’t sure if he’d run the full 17 miles (he ran 10 yesterday), and my inner slacker started talking me into bagging it as well.
Slacker Devil: “You’ve been training so hard. You deserve a break. You’re legs are getting TIRED.”
Persevering Angel: “You can do it! You’re strong! You can run 17 miles in your sleep!”
SD: “Don’t listen to her yammering. You’re going to hurt yourself. The couch is calling you!”
PA: “Think of how proud you’ll be for gutting it out. You’ll EARN that spot on the couch!”
I silenced my inner devil, at least for a couple more miles. But as we neared the spot where my darling would branch off, I had to stop to mull over my options: 1) turn right at the Fremont bridge and run along the south end of Lake Union, finishing my run as planned; 2) head straight and run along the north end of Lake Union, cutting the run by roughly 3 miles; or 3) turn left up Stone Way, thus cutting the run to about 11 miles total.
I’m embarrassed to say my inner slacker won out.
I braced myself for the Stone Way hill, but by now my legs were really protesting, and my heart was no longer in it. At 8.41 miles, I was ready for my meltdown, Mr. DeMille. (Ever the photographer, my darling couldn’t pass up an opportunity for a great close up).
While we walked the rest of the hill, I rallied at the end to finish running, logging in 10 miles for the day. (My inner slacker is now sulking in the corner).