2 miles. Nothing earth shattering or life changing. A simple warm up for the week. The entire schedule only exists in my head: Monday 1/2 the long distance at a moderate pace, Wednesday intervals, Friday twice the short distance. There isn't anything riding on this: no scholarships, professional deals, awards. I'm doing it so that I can still fit in my pants and enjoy eating the foods I like.
It was 7:30 pm as I headed out the door to run two miles. It was actually below 90F and with low humidity due to a late afternoon storm, so Einstein could come with. Wyatt decided he wanted to go running with me too and so the whole family headed outside and down the hill. Wyatt ran for 0.43 miles before calling it quits and heading inside a sweaty ball of excited toddlerness. I was very proud of him.
I kept going. I had 1.5 miles left to go.
The first mile went great. I was feeling good and having fun. But then it started.
"I'm moving like molasses, this is going horribly"
"At this rate I'll finish two miles in like 30 minutes! Faster, must go faster!"
"I suck at running."
"This is embarrassing. Why do I even bother?"
"I don't think I can even call this running. It's more like slogging"
And on and on and on.
Truth is, I wasn't going that slow. A 10 minute pace even up steep hills at 7:30 pm after a long day at work in 85F heat and after crawling on the floor before dinner acting like an AT AT so Wyatt could tie me up and make me crash.
And even if I was going that slow, it doesn't matter.
It is an achievement to just change into running clothes that late at night and move at all. Anything beats sitting on the couch.
As I turned up the last hill and walked some to catch my breath during the steepest part, my brain was screaming at me. I stopped and very sharply told myself to shut the heck up.
The last 0.5 miles went much better as I let myself go the pace I could without feeling inadequate about the pace or the distance or the terrain. I let my body relax and flow into my stride proud that I was moving at all. Nobody is judging me or my abilities. I could walk or jog or spring and still walk in the door to a smiling son asking me how my run went. The only person being harsh on me is me.
And that needs to stop. Immediately.