The planet's boiling sunshine has been a deterrent to running these last eight weeks. The heat has been oppressive, especially in July. But the bigger deterrent, of course, is my practiced ability to not accomplish the schedule I carefully laid out for myself -- or, rather, that Hal Higdon laid out, bless his heart.
It hasn't been all bad. Last weekend I ran 15 miles with my roommate, LaJuanda (who, uh, also happens to be in Outer Space...surprise!). It was the most I've run in one day. Ever. We started at our apartment in Lakeview and ran down Lake Shore, watching the Air and Water Show and running dangerously close to low-flying jets and suburban tourists. At North Avenue we turned west and ran straight through Wicker Park to Humboldt Park.
Yes, there's a Humboldt Park in Outer Space.
The 15-mile loop took us four hours to run, but that was mostly due to the beer stop we made at Uberstein Wicker Park around mile 8.5. We spent an hour gulping water, sipping beer, and chatting with the bartender and the three patrons present on a Saturday afternoon. They were amused but impressed with us, and the bartender even played along with our suggestion to declare Uberstein a Northwestern bar. (NU only has two bars in the city right now -- Lion Head and Kendall's, both on Lincoln Avenue in Lincoln Park -- so sticking a purple flag in a new neighborhood would be pretty badass. We got the bartender's card, we'll keep you posted.)
Anyway, we left after our one beer even though I wanted to stay for more beer, both because beer is delicious and because my legs felt like they might not sustain my body weight, let alone run. We walked outside the bar, stretched, and began slowly plodding along, a solid 3 minutes/mile slower than our 5K pace. My legs felt stiff and angry. It was a painful 6.5 miles, and it was exacerbated by our getting lost in the Lincoln Park Zoo a few miles from home. (I wanted to see the lions but then we got lost near the rhinos.)
It hurt, but it was fun, thank god. It was a reminder that every run doesn't need to be a race to the finish, and that stopping to enjoy a beer or a lion along the way nourishes the soul.
But then, the following week, out of the 15 miles I was supposed to run over 5 days, I ran only 2 miles. This has been my problem: skipping the shorter, midweek runs. The long runs are terrifying to miss, because the main thing I'm scared of in this marathon is being mentally prepared to run for 26.2 miles. It takes a long time to run that far, and the longs runs are psychological training as much as physical. But the midweek runs are just as important, more for the physical, and I feel like I'm fucking it up.
Today I toughed out 5 miles. They were harder than they should have been, thanks to heat and the lapse of personal record-setting fitness level, and it took me 10 minutes longer than it should have, thanks to walking breaks.
But I did it. I fought inertia long enough to go for a run. It feels like that some days, like you have to actually battle something before you can lace up. It should be simpler -- quit whining and run, right? -- but the human element is a powerful factor. It's always easier to stay put and not do it, and I've always been good at convincing myself to go with instant gratification (watching West Wing and eating chocolate) over delayed gratification (consistently going for runs after work to build stamina to run my first marathon).
My best friend reminded me yesterday that we can't do absolutely everything perfectly all the time. If I want to focus on running, I can't also be trying to start a new job and establish a new writing schedule and update three blogs and get serious with my band and learn to cook souffle. Or rather, I can try to do all that at once, but maybe I shouldn't be so hard on myself when I drop a ball every once in awhile.
The marathon is six weeks from tomorrow. This is the ball I need to concentrate on. Luckily, the gravity in Outer Space is wonky, so I have faith I'll at least keep it floating above the ground.
