Eighty days until Toronto.
Last week’s run was awful.
Long run Saturday.
These are just some of the things that I’ve been telling myself again and again for the past week. I hate listening to myself. I push myself and I drive myself crazy when I can’t meet my own standard. Other times, I do what I’m told and am happy about it; then, I tell myself that I should be able to do more. Like other things that go with running, listening to myself is a love-hate relationship.
After grocery shopping on Thursday night specifically to fuel today’s run, and after making sure that I filled the tank with Supreme yesterday, I woke up this morning and decided not to run. One of the first things I thought was “That was a waste of carbs.”
But that tiny little voice in the back of my head was whispering, “Don’t run long. You need to let your leg loosen up a bit more. The Chilly Half is next week. Don’t waste it.”
I hated that voice. I knew it was right but I wanted to get in that 15 miles. My last two long runs were in rotten weather conditions and I wanted to prove that I am faster than those times show. I couldn’t fight the voice on my own so I went to find Little Ironman. Within minutes, we were cleaning his room, sorting laundry and doing other Saturday chores. The voices went away.
Late afternoon, they came back to torment me. “Long run,” they said. “There is still daylight and it’s not that cold. You’ll be fine.”
“No,” I replied, “we decided to take the day off and run long tomorrow morning instead. That gives me two days off, remember?”
But the voices persisted. I was weakening; I was thinking about heading out for a run. I needed help.
At this point, therapy was the only solution – therapy of the retail kind. As soon as my husband got home, I grabbed the car key and headed out to Burlington to check out Foot Tools, a local running store, followed by a trip to the grocery store.
The voices are asleep again, resting for tomorrow’s long run.