Colfax Marathon Training: Week 2

I would love to say I feel great during every run and I come home invigorated, but that isn't always the case.  I ran 8 miles on Wednesday because I wanted to run outside before the weather turned cold Friday night.  (Running 8 on the dreadmill isn't exactly thrilling.)  My mother in law offered to watch Owen while he napped and Ethan was at school.  It was the perfect opportunity to get some nice alone time and enjoy the open road.

Because I chose to wear my running clothes to drop Ethan off at preschool, his teacher remembered to tell me how Ethan does laps around the playground during recess.  She asked him why he runs lap after lap, getting increasingly faster at each loop.  Ethan's response was the biggest compliment an active parent can receive, "I need to practice my running so that I can be a great runner like my Mommy someday!" 

I returned to my car, gleaming with pride, and drove promptly home to begin my workout.  As I ran, I thought constantly about Ethan.  I want him to be proud of me.  Obviously our kids look up to us, but I want him to look back at his childhood someday and really think his mom was amazing.  That's why I started to feel guilty when my knees and calves ached with excruciating pain by mile 2.  I had a babysitter to watch Owen; Ethan was in school; the weather was phenomenal; my son was probably running laps around the school yard as I limped along; it was the perfect day for a run, and yet I wanted to stop. 

I never stop when I run.  I never walk.  I know that if I walk, I won't start up again.  It is easier to just slow my pace and push through.  A few miles later I am usually fine and I can finish comfortably.  For some reason, I was really sore on Wednesday and for the first time in years, I walked up a hill.  No, not one hill, three.  My dog, Tucker, was pulling me along excitedly and I thought I was going to loose it.  I haven't pushed through pain like that in a long time. 

Thankfully, I felt remarkably better after mile 4.  My blood started moving the soreness away from my calves and knees and I fell into my typical 9:38 pace.  When I made it home, I felt relieved to have covered the full distance, but also proud that I didn't quit when I saw multiple opportunities.  I could have bailed on my route and gone 3, 4, 5, or 6 miles.  But I didn't.  I finished the planned course and thought about Ethan the entire trek. 

My other runs weren't that noteworthy.  I ran a couple freezing cold three milers at 6:00 am, contacts freezing to my eyeballs; and yesterday hit the gym for 5.5 miles on the dreadmill.  Not every run is supposed to be memorable.  Not every run is supposed to feel great.  I want Ethan to respect his mother's accomplishments not because they are always done with beauty and finesse, but because I always finish what I start. 

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