in which I don't even think about crying

I got a new watch a while back. I pretty much hate it. I like the idea of it, but I can't seem to do any more with it than I could with my old, cheapo watch. Basically, I use it for a stopwatch. I occasionally hit the lap button, but then can't retrieve my info, plus it doesn't calculate averages the way I'd like. I keep old runs on there, thinking that some day I will sit down (in all my spare time, of course) and parse the data and somehow be granted the keys to the kingdom.

I put the kids to bed tonight, and after the Supportive Husband got home, headed out for an evening run. The sun was setting. A fast and furious thunderstorm had rolled through, cooling things off just a touch. Knowing that the light was waning, I pulled out the first white shirt I laid my hands on - my old "Distance is my game" shirt. And headed for the door.

At the last second, I turned around and grabbed my watch off the bathroom counter. After Saturday's disaster, I had no desire to measure myself against anything concrete. I just needed to make the effort to go run a couple of miles. But I decided that good or bad, I needed to be accountable for what I did out there on the pavement.

I opened the front door, and put my watch into stopwatch mode, and there, staring deep into my soul, was the undeniably shitty time from Saturday's run. For shame. I know I'm slow, but even I have standards, goals, and yes, just a little bit of pride. I'll never win. I can't even run with some of my favorite people because I'm just too slow. And this has never bothered me. But the type-A, hyper-competitive part of me wouldn't run if I weren't faster than somebody. I'd much rather be a DNF or DNS than DFL. And I do want to improve my times. I get sloppy about tracking my workouts, but I never, ever miss putting a race into my log and comparing it with years past.

So seeing Saturday's time, the time that isn't going in my training log, and definitely isn't getting posted for the whole Internet to see, almost deflated me completely, and I very nearly turned back around and bagged my run. It's too hot. It's too humid. I just ate. The kids might wake up and need me. The laundry's not folded.

Instead, I held down the reset button, and after a couple of seconds was rewarded with a metallic chirp and 00:00.00.

Slate clean, I hit start and ran. And ran and ran. And kept running. And ran faster when I felt tired. Saturday was gone with the push of a button. I didn't need to leave my baggage on the pavement, I just needed to clear it out of my watch.

And then I got back to my front porch, two miles and just 20:40 later. I measured on two different sites, and yes, it was a whole 2.0 miles. Maybe even a skosh more. For two miles, I ran 10:20 pace, and didn't walk a step. This is HUGE for me. Huge. People, I was happy with 12 minute miles at the 10 miler. I don't think I've run this fast in the past 3 years, at least.

It's a start. Goodbye, Saturday, and good riddance. Chirp!