No, really, it’s the longest I’ve ever run. It was painful, and I’m worn out, helped by a big weight-lifting session last night.
The first mile, as usual, was a little rough as I tried to find my stride.
Miles two and three were pretty smooth, aside from the fact that I’d opted to go downtown. Me not being a car moving 30 mph, I couldn’t really time the light cycles, and often had to stop and wait for a green. Since I’d already been intimidated by the prospect of the run, I wanted the route to be a simple out-and-back, so I didn’t take the “whichever way is green” approach to going through downtown.
Once I hit 3 miles, I turned around and headed back.
At about the 4.5 mile point–which was just about an hour in–I started flagging.
“It’s been a whole month since I last did a long run,” I thought, “and that was only 5 miles. Over 6 miles is crazy.”
At 4.75 miles, my legs felt like lead.
I got a little burst of energy at 5 miles, but the backs of my hips were hurting and my legs were dead. On top of last night’s epic weightlifting, I’d also neglected to eat breakfast before going out for the run.
Look, I felt fine when I left the apartment, alright?
I focused on my posture to get my upper-body in some semblance of alignment. Shoulders back, let the arms swing, sit back instead of leaning forward, let the legs propel gently.
That was my mantra for remainder. I had to deviate from my intervals and walk more after that 4.5 mark, and I had to do a little partial loop around my complex to get the final 0.25 miles, but I covered the damn distance.
So now I’m in bed, having washed off the encrusted salt and dined on splendid food and cider. Everything on or in my body generally hurts, and I’m thinking more seriously about the pain the half marathon in March will bring. I ran very slowly, and I still hurt.
Hopefully, one rough month doesn’t completely break a training schedule.