After wanting to crawl into the green, algae infested waters of Millers Bay last week, my running shoes and I have been taking a break.
As in, I haven't ran in almost a week. But tonight I knew I had to, even if it was going to kill me.
I headed back out to Menominee Park after work tonight, ready to run the trail where I nearly died last week. I admit, I was worried. What if I'd get out to the point, turn around and have nothing left in the tank again? What if I couldn't even make it the 2 miles to the point? That wouldn't be so good, especially since 5 miles was on today's plan.
But I ran. I put one foot in front of the other and ran. At first it hurt. But I think that was mostly due to the quasi-uncomfortable shoes I wore to the wedding last weekend. Somewhere around the playground, the achy feeling in my feet disappeared and I was running pain free. And before I knew it, I was at the point and turning around.
And I didn't feel like I was going to die. I was happy. I picked up my pace a bit, glanced at my watch somewhere around 3 miles and was impressed with the numbers that were being displayed.
And did I mention, I still felt good?
Soon I was passing my car, on my way to the last .6 mile loop around the lighthouse. Before I knew it, it was 56 minutes since I left, I was back at my car and I had covered my 5 miles. And I didn't hurt. Or die. Actually, I felt like I could have kept going.
After the awful run I had last week, I really was starting to rethink this whole half-marathon thing. I mean seriously, if I couldn't even finish a short 4 mile mid-week training run without feeling like I was going to die, how in the world was I going to run 13.1 miles? Tonight, I felt much better, like I had been feeling up until last week.
And that 13.1 miles? Bring it on, because it's totally doable.