Goals and grace

Well, I'm four weeks down and four weeks to go in my training for my 10k trail race.  I've been very consistent with my run days, and this past week, I also was very consistent with my cross training days, too.  This week, though, I'm actually leaving the trusted friend that the Hal Higdon training plan has become and I'm diverting my training time to an actual trail race training program that I found in a recent special issue of Runner's World, specifically devoted to trail running.  I've run 33 miles in the last four weeks. Okay, let's be real, here.  I've walked some on most of my runs, too.  But I've covered 33 miles of ground during my training, at least.

This time, though, compared to last time, seems to be harder.  I'm struggling with really tight calves about a mile in, and I've got to stop running to stretch them out again and walk for a minute, before I can go on.  (If anyone has any tips on how to prevent that, I'm open to hearing them.  The trainer at the Y wasn't so helpful on that.)  I'm also struggling with internal battles, as well.  I thought that it wouldn't be as hard this time around as it was last time, and I definitely didn't think it would be harder.  Granted, my previous 10k was five months ago, and my training started over seven months ago.  And then I really fell off the band wagon for a while.  But I somehow thought, "I've done this before.  I can do it again.  No problem!"  And that just hasn't been the case.  My endurance is nowhere near where I'd like it to be and the calves situation isn't helping any.

On Saturday, my long run day, I set out to do my four miles.  Now, by this point last time around, I was running all the way through my runs with no walking.  Not so this time.  I had to walk a few times after stretching for my calves, and, frankly, so I could talk myself up to not giving up.  The mental battle of running might just be harder for me than the physical.  My goal, had I been running the whole thing, was 48:00 minutes.  I was 3.5 miles in at 48:00.  I had two laps on the track to go (side note:  I hate running the track.  I did it for the sake of my boys who were at the playground there.) already at my target time.  I'd been talking to myself (Call me crazy, if you will, but I talk to myself while I'm running. Hey, I need SOMEONE to give me a pep talk, and if I"m the only one there, I've got to do it for myself.) throughout the run about giving myself grace.  About the fact that, on a Saturday morning when what I really wanted to do was stay home and eat a big breakfast and enjoy some time with my boys, I got dressed, went to the track, and started running. When I'm close to the end, I always seem to have more energy and determination to run faster.  The beginning of a run, like Saturday, when I've got four miles or 16 laps on the track to do, is just so overwhelming I feel like I'll never be able to do it.  And then I start anyway and do one and then two and then four and then eight, and after walking a bit, I start to run again, and I'm fighting myself the whole way through, and it's hard to say if it's my mind or my heart that's winning, because they're both fighting for me to keep going and to give up at the same time.  It's a tough place to be, honestly.  Anyway, back to Saturday.  I had two laps to do, which, again, is a half a mile.  I was at 48:00.  So, at that point, knowing that the end is near, the battle inside sort of dies down and everything about me just goes in to finish mode.  I kicked it up and did the last half mile in a little over five minutes (which is a 10 minute mile pace, which, for me is pretty fast).

And even still, once I made the walk over the the playground to find Daniel and Lucas, as I started stretching out, I broke down.  I cried for a lot of reasons.  I cried because I had done it.  I cried because it was so hard and it's "supposed" to be easier.  I cried because I feel like a fraud calling myself a runner.  I cried tears of relief because I was done.  I cried because I impress myself and disappoint myself simultaneously every time I run.  I cried because I'm the harder on myself than I am on anyone else and I'm impossible to please.  I cried because I did the last half mile, which should be the hardest part, in the shortest time of any other laps.  (Seriously, it's a hard thing to be in my brain sometimes...)

Daniel was very encouraging and supportive and told me how proud he is of me, just for getting out there, for being consistent and persistent, and for doing something that only a small percentage of Americans can/will do.  Even this week at the Y, while I was asking the trainer some questions and telling her what I was doing, she told me she can't run more than a quarter of a mile before she has to walk, and she's super skinny and very fit.  So, the fact that I can run at least two (when my calves don't cramp) straight, and then some, is great.  And the fact that I keep trying and don't give up is great, too.  We like to watch The Biggest Loser, and I always am proud of the contestants every time they finish a challenge whether or not they win because they did it.  In a way, that's how I want to be proud of myself.  I want to choose to run because it's a healthy thing for me to do, because my fitness is important, and because it's a challenge to myself.  It's exhausting to fight the battle every time, though.  I'm struggling with how to extend myself the grace to do what I need to do in whatever time/speed I can do it, while still challenging myself to keep up with the training and be so militant about not missing any training days.

Mostly, I just want to express that running isn't easy for me.  It's not something I ever thought I would do, and there are days even while I'm running that I think I'm so not cut out for it.  But I also think it's something that's gritty and challenging and I sort of like the angry, frustrated, defiant feeling I get toward the end of the run when I just decide I'm simply not giving up.  That I've gone as far as I have for a reason and that reason isn't to give up.  So I keep going.  For myself.   Because even if it takes me forever to finish, not finishing would be even worse.