Yeeeeeeha, I ran my program today. Four miles - ran past the ark site, around the nature trail (which is bitchin' hilly, and not all that fun to run, despite the shade), and back home. I tried a Gu halfway through. It was banana flavored. It tasted okay, but I wasn't crazy about the texture (it's not called Gu for nothing). And then it sat in my tummy like a rock as I jounced around in the heat. Bleargh. But I didn't feel as ass-draggy on the long uphill bit, so it wasn't a total loss.
I also wore my spiffy Ironman visor, my Camelbak, and my watch with the new battery. I feel like a dorky poseur weekend warrior with all those entrapments. I think I need to accept the fact that even if I'm the slowest runner out there, I'm actually a runner. Me, an athlete! I was the kid who cried every day after gym class in the seventh grade. I had math right after gym, and my wonderful teacher would let me sit in class with teary eyes, and just quietly do that night's homework. She never once chided me for not paying attention. I loved the numbers and patterns, the regularity, the rules, and mostly, the fact that I was as good at math as I was bad at volleyball.
And now, I'm a runner, I'm a swimmer. I love the rhythm of running, running my pace by the numbers. I love the solitude and time for reflection. I love counting laps in swimming. I love devising workouts in my head, counting by 25's or 75's, and finding novel ways to add up to big numbers. I love keeping count of breaths, strokes, laps, kicks. I love the strangeness of 26.2. On November 11, it will be the first time I have purposely not run a distance that was an even mile, half mile, or kilometer.
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