I ran eight miles on Saturday. Eight miles of flatness. And I was kind of dying a little bit. What’s with that?
Seriously though, I’m starting to regret that couple of weeks I spent not running because I was sick. And possibly the couple of weeks before that when I somehow didn’t feel the need to go for any run longer than four miles. On New Year’s day, I did eight miles of kick-ass hills. Easily. But this time, I kept checking my watch for the entire last two miles. This might have had a lot to do with the fact that I forgot a water bottle though and (only because I didn’t have any water in the car with me) was already thirsty before I started.
Apparently, I’m really into sentence fragments tonight. Sorry about that.
Anyway, I did enjoy being out in the snow flurries for an hour and a half, and I got distracted from being thirsty by how much I had to pee after the first couple of miles. (The only bathroom I passed WOULD be out of order.) I persevered, however, because Josh said HE ran eight miles last weekend. With hills. See how this accountability thing is working for me? I told you it would.
It wasn’t until today that he confessed his eight miles was also quite a struggle.
Speaking of Josh (I pray to God he doesn’t read this, cause I only now realized how much he comes up in my blog), he ALREADY signed up for the marathon. (See Josh? I’m not obsessed with you or anything; you’ve just become a principle character in this marathon storyline.) And I was going to sign up when he did, but then I felt poor because I had to pay for my inability to navigate a parking lot.
So guys, I’m going to sign up for it RIGHT NOW. As soon as I finish writing this. Holy cannoli. I’ve never run more than 15 miles in one go. Ever. But one year ago, I’d never run more than five. So here’s to not thinking things through. It seems to have worked out well for me so far.