Seven miles. I am now officially past the half way point to my final half marathon distance of 13.1 miles. I’m glad I still have two months of training left, because at the end of my 7 miles yesterday, if you would have asked me if I could run another 6.1, I would have laughed in your face. And then asked you to massage my legs. And make me lunch.
Here is how runs almost always go for me :
Mile 0–1 : OH MY GOD. MY LEGS HURT. MY LUNGS ARE BURNING. WHY AM I DOING THIS TO MYSELF?
Mile 1-2 : This isn’t entirely miserable. Bearable, sorta.
Mile 2–? : Oh hey! This isn’t bad! Maybe I’m a runner after all!
Last half mile (regardless of distance) : SWEET JESUS EVERYTHING HURTS. WHY AM I DOING THIS TO MYSELF?
After having a nice conversation on Friday with my sister, I found out she goes through the first-mile-dreads, too. Which is nice to hear. At least we aren’t alone in our misery.
The last 1/2 mile of yesterday’s run was particularly bad. And once back home, I almost immediately started stiffening up. I did a nice long stretch and some quality time with frozen veggies, but I’m in major pain today.
It is interesting that 7 miles hurts so, so, so much more than 6 miles. Who knows why my body reacted so badly yesterday.
This all being said, the run was actually very good. Felt strong most of the time. Took 2 dates at my halfway/turnaround point. Wore my Camelbak for the first time in training and it worked out well.
Overall, I ended my run happy and proud. Even if I had to spend all of Sunday afternoon on a heating pad.
P.S. Breakfast after 7 miles was the most delicious thing ever. Even if we ate it at 3pm (we didn’t get out for our run until noon).
P.S.S. Babyface ran his 7 miles in 58 minutes. Ree-donkey-lips.