Mon- cross train/weights
Tue- run 8 miles/cross train
Thu- run 4 miles/cross train
Sun- run 15 miles
Total: 27 miles
I have to say, even though I'm wimping out on how much and how often I should be running each week, I was still amazed to see that I've run 27 miles per week for the last two weeks. Even more cool? According to my exercise journal, over these same two weeks last year- I didn't run a single mile.
I also seem to have found a new technique to getting my behind outside to do a run when every single fiber of my being does not want to- I simply give myself permission to run as slowly and as gingerly as I want. When I first started this two days ago, it was almost laughable. I think each stride I took was about 6 inches long. It really must have looked ridiculous. I think an infant could have crawled past me. But you know- fu** it. 'Cause it worked. I never felt like I was exerting myself, AND I ended up running further than I'd thought I would.
Otherwise, I'm still kind of in the middle of a slump (which entirely has to do with overeating). I started to write yet another horribly depressing post the other day but ended up deleting it, mostly because while I'm (sometimes) willing to bare (part of) my soul here, I'm not super keen about everyone else thinking that all I do is curl up on the sofa, suck on my thumb and weep while Depeche Mode plays in the background (I stopped doing that like, two months ago).Even though I've been disappointed about how rough things have been, I've had a couple of really good realizations lately. In addition to realizing how overboard I went about last week's race time (which only proves that once again, manic behavior can ruin JUST ABOUT ANYTHING), I've further realized that the quicker I change my attitude toward LA, the better it will be for not just race day, but every day thereafter too.
I wish I could take credit for this latest realization as well, but of course...I cannot. As I've pointed out time and time again, I was not blessed with immense amounts of gray matter. This is not a statement of modesty or humility...I ate glue and paper until around the 2nd or 3rd grade. And even worse, I tried to LIE about it. I told my mother that it was the kid next to me who was taking all those little bites off the top of my folders. (Seeeee...not too bright, eh?)
Anyway, this most recent gem came to me courtesy of a board member my coworkers' introduced me too. I think they were hoping that she would inspire me/cheer me up, and more importantly- distract me long enough so that they could slink away and avoid hearing my 8th melodramatic version that morning about how badly I sucked in the half-marathon.
In any case, this woman, who is probably in her early 50s, has run over thirty marathons. In my typical inquisitive and anal retentive manner, I immediately started to pepper her with a series of logistical and technical questions, all somehow related to reaching my ideal finish time. But here's where she got me. She said, "You know, I really don't pay attention to that (time). I do them for fun and to keep myself motivated. If I didn't have a race in 2-3 months, I wouldn't get out of bed to run. And I've found that if you start setting ambitious goals for yourself, it can become burdensome, and you're more likely to quit doing them. Remember, it's not the 26.2 miles that are actually good for you or your body...it's the hundreds of miles leading up to it."
So I think it's a pretty fair assumption that on March 4, 2007, that at more than one point, I will completely run out of gas and want to collapse/throw up/quit. And I'm hoping that at that moment- exhausted, in pain, desperate and alone, that I will turn to him, and he will be able to provide me the strength to finish.