I had motivation issues last week. I could tell you Mauka the Puppy was spayed on Monday and had loads of complications (our vet is fabulous, Mauka is just a big baby -- like her Mommy) but that wouldn't explain my lack of putting one foot in front of the other the weekend before.
Back at it today; our program called for a 5 mile pace run. Today was windy -- almost-knock-me-on-my-bumper windy. But, I was determined to look good in my new Mizuno rain/wind jacket make the best of it.
My goal pace was 8:35-8:40 for 5 miles. The first two miles swallowed me up and spit me back out. Brutal. I saw Brett with 2.09 miles down and said verbatim,
"See that puddle over there? (insert huge muddy puddle here) If I had the choice between running the next 3 miles or taking a nap in that puddle... the puddle would win."
It's a free country. I get it. I could've taken my muddy puddle nap... but I'm a runner.
And runners don't run for the time. Or the race. Wait, yes we do. At least, I do. But I've come to realize I also run to find a tougher me. I knew when I finished the 5 miles I would be stronger, tougher. I would find my spirit, my true grit. And, that I did.
I hated this run. Everything about it. I didn't smile once. I pretended I was running faster than I was when I passed a couple of other runners. Total ego idiot, I am. I wanted to cry. I wanted my mommy.
But, I finished. And I'm sore and happy. My pace? 8:50. I'm actually a bit surprised it wasn't slower. Go figure.
Hugs and love and moral of the story: quit whining and keep running,