run

Week Eight, Day 3

Thursday, August 31st, 2023

POST-RUN MORTUM

Time Running: 38 minutes 

Distance Achieved: 2.6 miles 

Tunage: Don’t make me say it again. Ugh, fine, Hadestown

I CANNOT GET PAST 2.6 MILES JESUS CHRIST WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME. It happened again today, that moment where I was like, I know this is my 2.5-mile marker here, I’m going even further than that today, CLEARLY, I MUST BE BREAKING 3 MILES BUT NO. Not this bish. Not today. 

I’m frustrated. 

Truly I am. 

I thought I was being sneaky last night when we were driving home from dinner along what my route today was going to be, and I googled, as I so often do as you know, to see how far it was from my starting point to high school. It was 2.5 miles. Easy peasy. I know I can do that. And then today, when I was running, I was like, fuck, I’m going to hit this today. I’m going to make it to the high school BEFORE it’s time to cool down, leaving me with plenty of time to clear that additional .5 miles. And I thought I was doing that. I even ran a bit through my cool down because I was like, I know I’m going to blow past 3 miles; let’s see how high I can get it. And THEN my guy Runicorn tells me that the run is over, says that I did awesome, and when I check my distance TWO POINT FUCKING SIX MILES. 

I have never questioned this app before. I have never doubted the stats that they are telling me to be anything but true. Afterall, Runicorn and I have developed a real trust over the last eight weeks. But I couldn’t believe that it was only 2.6. I couldn’t believe that, once again, I did not clear 3 miles. It should also be noted, I have **exceptional** spatial awareness. But this whole experience is making me question how attuned that sense actually is. Or, could it be, that something gets disrupted in the space time continuum of my brain that somehow makes the distance and the amount of time that I’m running all kinds of fucked up? That must be it. The space time continuum is broken. It’s the only explanation. 

I think why I’m feeling so frustrated is because I felt like today was actually a great run. My form is getting better, the way I’m striking the pavement is leaps and bounds ahead of where it was when I started this whole thing two months ago, and these are all things that I should be celebrating. I am celebrating them, even though it may not seem like I am outwardly, but there is a part of my trauma-addled brain that can acknowledge that I am getting better at this. Maybe even, and again, I will contest this if you say I ever admitted to it, enjoying it. But I am also just so hung up on the fact that we are two months into this and I haven’t cracked three miles yet. That has me feeling a sort of way. And I think I just need to let it go. Because the 5K in October isn’t timed. It’s not like I have to finish it in a certain amount of time. The problem is that I’ve set a standard for myself, a standard that I already haven’t met – re, the 35-minute 5K – and I’m sort of feeling like a bit of a schlub. That’s it, I supposed. This schlubby feeling permeating throughout me. It’s not great. But I’m honoring that it is there. And hopefully, in the honoroing of it, I can move through it faster. 

Today was also the first time that I fell during this training process. I’m fine, one hundred percent fine. For those of you who know me well, you’ll be just as shocked as I am that it took me to week eight for my long-lasting battle with gravity to come into play, but it happened. The sidewalk ended about two minutes into my cooldown and I started to walk along the side of the road on the grass. My foot fell into a divot, because of course, and I rolled my ankle and landed on my knee. A lot of things were working in my favor, the first being that I know how to fall. When you try to stop yourself from falling, that’s where the majority of the injury comes from, so if you know you’re going down, just ragdoll it to the ground and then lay there for a while, staring up at the sky above you as you contemplate the chain of events that brought you to this moment. It’s cathartic as fuck. So, knowing how to fall as I do, I just went down. The other thing that worked for me was the fact that there was still dew on the grass, because you know, I’m a Disney princess and I only run through dew-kissed meadows while litte birdies swoop down to sing on my shoulder. But in all seriousness,  the dew did help. It acted like as a sort of oil slick that cradled me down to the ground. And then, of course, I was wet, but wet grass is nicer to fall on than hard, crunchy, dry grass. The third thing that helped is that my ankles have been through a lot and my right one could handle this roll. My left knee, on the other hand, is feeling a bit tender as she took the brunt of my weight, even with the dewey oil slick that helped my downfall. 

So. 

Yeah. 

I’m annoyed and wet and covered in grass and frustrated and sore and scratched up. And I’m trying really hard not to let the numbers dictate how I’m feeling about these runs, but when the needle seems to be stuck as it has been for a few weeks now, I’m just like, why the fuck can’t I break through this plateau. 

Anyway. 

Colby and I are going to go tubing now, because we need a little nature, and I think the 60° river water will feel very soothing on my pain-addled body. 

This week has been wild. 

Absolutely batshit. 

And I think we just need to float for a little while.