I set myself up with my laptop to watch some bad tv, and made a deal to just do what I could. To try to make the three miles, even if I had to take a walk break. My normal show wouldn't load on netflix for some reason so I loaded up Mulan (I am a total sucker for animation...it's the illustrator in me,) and set the treadmill to 3.5.
The run felt good. I mean really good. My legs didn't hurt, and I only really felt like I was working for about ten minutes in the middle around mile 2.
The best part came when I checked my distance and realized I had run past three miles, without realizing it. It totally blew me away.
Here was the distance that I had trained to finish for months, and I had just ran it without realizing it.
I felt good. I was all sweaty, yes, but I was not tired. I was not worn out. I could have kept running. Instead I jumped into the shower and headed over my in-laws for dinner. It was amazing to me that I had just run three miles, and I was not tired, and I had increased my pace closer to an 11 min/mile!
At the in-laws I had a low point, where I walked in, totally elated about my run, and had the (possibly untrue) realization that no one cared. No one there would want to hear about my amazing three mile run.
Later that night Mr.FitDaddy (I think that's what I'll call my husband now!) asked me how my run went. I gushed for a minute about the run, then self consciously shut myself up. He looked me in the eyes and told me he was proud of me. For doing this, for continuing to do this. For doing this without anyone else helping me or keeping me accountable.
With everything over the past few days, I'm thinking seriously about setting a goal of a half marathon for next spring. I think I can do it. More, I think I want to do it.
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