Time for some whine, me thinks. Maybe some wine, too. Throw some cheese at me too, while you're at it.
Last night was the first time I'd run since the 5K on Saturday. Even now, after a good night's sleep, my recollection of a certain 75 minutes last evening doesn't make the list of all-time favorite experiences. It's on that other list.
I'd not yet run the six-miler that was on our training schedule (ten days ago), so I decided last night was the night. We'd had a beautiful, cooler summer day and the evening was just about perfect for running. Romie accompanied me on his bike to verify mileage, although where we live, that's usually not necessary, with the roads being laid out in mile squares.
First mile: Looking good. Breathing well. Legs moving fine. I can do this.
Second mile: Oh, look! A deer! How pretty. Starting to get a sideache, for only the second time ever in this whole running adventure.
Third mile: Sideache turns into severe abdominal pain. Anticipating reaching the home of friends at the end of the mile so I can use the lady's room.
Halfway point: Friends aren't home. Well, now what?
Fourth mile: 2½ miles from home, not a living being in sight except for Romie. Cornfield to the right.
*skip this part*
Fifth mile: Getting dark now. Walking as much as running. Enjoying the lightning bugs. Dreaming about taking a shower. Thinking of stopping short of six miles by turning into driveway as I go by it on the way to the last corner.
Sixth mile: Corner isn't that far away. Can walk back to house. Decide to go for it.
Okay, so I ran/walked the six miles, but it wasn't pretty and it wasn't fun. I had thoughts of chucking this whole thing altogether. I won't ever be able to do 13.1 miles all at once. How do these people DO this??
They must be insane. I must be, too.