I couldn’t fall asleep last night and getting up to my 5 am alarm would mean less than six hours of sleep. When the alarm did go off, mid dream, I let it run for a cycle, thinking about how getting up and then straight back to bed would be fine (read: heavenly). Maybe my body needed sleep. Maybe that’s why it felt so hard.
That’s the good thing about stating intentions and the little dose of accountability I put into my writing last night. Do I want to be the kind of person who doesn’t do what she says she’s going to? No. I told myself before I went to bed that the only way to get back on the schedule was to reset and maybe slog through a morning of being tired. So I got up, microwaved my heat pack to warm me up while I meditated, and promised myself some fanfiction reading to keep me out of bed.
Then the next challenge to my commitment: it was raining. Steadily, for hours already. Dark sky, 47 degrees, and I had told myself I was going to run. I needed to run, a three-day break is more than I’ve taken in a long time and with a half-marathon just over two weeks away this wasn’t the time to get too lax about my fitness. But it was raining. I had fantastically imagined running rain or shine the night before but that reality looks a little different when it’s before 7 in the morning and it looks miserable outside.
I ran through my options (excuses). I could go to the gym and run on the treadmills. I could run after work instead. I could take it as a sign that I needed this break and start again tomorrow. I was pretty far convinced into that second option, getting geared up to plop back down and watch an episode of Malcolm in the Middle, when I stopped course, and without fanfare started to pull on my running clothes. And my rain jacket. And the trail shoes that I thought would have a little more grip. I had said I was going to do this and I knew that chances were pretty low of me mustering the energy after work with my odd mood I’ve wrestled with this week.
So I went for a run in the rain, down to the trail, going slower by necessity to navigate the puddles and slippery rocks and out load telling myself “careful” the couple times I nearly lost my footing. I went three and a half miles, short of what I’d normally do but turned around when the stretch again looked completely like a stream instead of trail — I’d already soaked through my socks and shoes with the smaller pools of rainwater along the way. So even though it was not a fast or long run, it was a run, and I returned feeling good in my body and proud that I’d gotten my ass out of the door.
Also, there is definitely something about running in the rain and mud that makes me feel tough which fits well into my internal aesthetic. It helps that I’m on the last part of my running book (Running with the Buffaloes) and their rain or shine hard training puts my whining into perspective.
Here’s to no excuses this morning . . . or less excuses . . . and getting back on track.
With Love,
Natalie