Mondays are long runs. I was really dreading this run after last week’s long run (the one where I nearly cried after 2 miles).
I had an emotionally tough night last night. Sunday afternoon I had an appointment to get a tattoo done. And I got it done. Only, it isn’t the perfect image I had in mind. I spent about two hours trying not to cry, imagining coming across my beautifully envisioned tattoo on one of those WTF were they thinking sites. I drank some wine and decided that I could get it fixed, somehow. Probably by someone else. But there is nothing doing about it until it heals. Lucky for me, I seem to heal quickly.
I got up this morning and had to tackle homework. A lot. I have a take home statistics test due tomorrow. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. It’s a take home test. How is that possibly stressful? It’s stressful because of the sheer number of questions I had to look up. The next 3 tests are not take-homes. The information is not going to get any easier for me to process, and it will be building on information I’m already not processing.
Then I had a surprise paper due. It was only a surprise because I haven’t looked at my school planner since Thursday. Stupid. So I had to do all the reading for that class, which I should have started last week, and then write the paper. It went pretty smoothly, despite everything. But still. I dislike sneaky assignments.
All of that compounded with the fact that it’s all of a sudden really freaking cold here again made me not want to run. Side note: they are talking potential snow again. Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Midwest/Northeast. One snow a year here is unusual. This will take our autumn ’10/winter ’11 snow-on-the-ground count to eleventy-thousand. Or 4. Possibly somewhere in between those two numbers, but if I were the betting type my money would be on the first number.
So I whined at my husband. He’s not really very sympathetic. His response? “Then don’t go.” That’s not helpful. Marathons don’t run themselves, you know. And I don’t run marathons without training. Duh.
After last week’s disastrous attempt at running, I decided that it’s time to let go of whatever shreds of ego I still have and lower my pace goal. Besides, these are supposed to be my long, slow runs. That means slower than my ego. So I set my goal pace at 13:00 min/mile. And then I ran.
And ended up averaging 11:34/mile.
There was a little knee tenderness on both sides, but I wouldn’t call it painful. It was an incredible run. I really focused on reigning myself in the first 2 miles, and then just settled in. Epiphany: pacing oneself is important.
It all went well, until I had about 1.75 miles to go. I came to a street with an island in it. There was a driver to my right that I expected to cross in front of me. She waited at the intersection for a car headed in the same direction I was going. Because she stopped, I thought I had enough time to cross the street. I got halfway across, only to realize that she had decided to gun it in front of the other car. I had absolutely no chance to get out of the way. I am positive that the only reason she saw me was because I was underneath a street light in my Brooks Nightlife jacket.
And I’d like to offer a very small tiny microscopic apology to the woman: What I screamed at you wasn’t nice, but it was true. You do need to fucking look where you are going. Especially if you are going to drive a 1980s Volvo. That beast will annihilate a runner. Not that a dinky little Smart car wouldn’t do the same, but when you are driving a civilian issued tank YOU NEED TO FUCKING. PAY. ATTENTION. End rant.
Suddenly, a less than perfect tattoo is no longer quite so heartbreaking.
And a PSA for all you runners: I understand the need to dress like a ninja on occasion. You must resist the urge if you are running at night. Resist the urge if it’s dusk. Resist the urge if it’s raining.
Oh, and all you people at Greenlake after dark? Same goes for you. You are not a herd of ninja. There are no lights on that path. You should all be thankful I don’t run with pepper spray.
That is all.