I just got back from a run. A horrible run. A horrible 6.7-mile run that should have felt easy because I am three and a half weeks out from my half marathon. Lately, I haven’t wanted to run and I’m confused because I love running. When I have someone to run with, I love it and I get excited to go, but when I have to get out the door by myself, I’ve been having trouble.
On Sunday, I had a 12-miler on the schedule. So I did it. It sucked and I didn’t want to go. I spent about three hours longer in bed than planned trying to get myself to go.
On Monday and Tuesday, I had people to run with and I looked forward to those runs. Even though Tuesday was a tough track workout that I totally bombed. In the bad way.
Yesterday–Wednesday–was a by-myself day. Seven miles planned. I didn’t want to run, so I didn’t. I took a rest day and it felt pretty good.
This morning I let myself sleep in instead of running and going to the gym before work, but I had to start work early today so whatever. After work I was exhausted and did not want to run. So I took a 2.5-hour nap. Then I got up and I fucking ran. It hurt. It sucked. It was terrible. I stopped twice during the first half. I was confused. I’m still confused.
I had scary thoughts during my run. Things like, “I should stop eating.” I actually said that to myself. Of course, I immediately replied with a “What the fuck?!” and a “How would that help anything?” But still. Not good.
I’m feeling better now. One bad run does not mean anything. I think it was more mentally bad than physically. I need to work on overcoming my mind. I also need to go to bed so I can get up early and go to the gym before work. Because a strong body makes a strong runner and I need to feel strong right now.
Hey look, a smile! What a difference from the crying I did when I got home.