Well, its that time of year again. A whole section of the park was fenced off this morning and it took me a while to figure it out. They are setting up the Haunted Trail for Halloween. I don't much go in for horror movies, haunted houses etc. But maybe we will check this one out this year.
I took two days off from running after Wednesday's run. The run was hard but went fine. It was afterwards that I felt an ache in my left knee. The kind that said, "Give me a break or I will give you one". So I rested an extra day.
The dawg went for a walk with the wife today as it was a little too warm for him to run.
Today's run was bruuutal. I got to mile 4 and alarm bells went off in my head, "Full stop! Full stop! We can't run ANYMORE!"
"What do you mean, 'you can't run anymore'? we have run this far lots of times!"
"NOT TODAY WE WON'T!"
And so, the battle was joined. I reasoned with myself:
1) My legs are plenty strong
2) I have plenty of energy
3) I am not feeling any pain
There is no logical reason I cannot keep running. But my feet wouldn't listen. I stumbled. It was as if my feet were slowing themselves to a walk against my head's direct orders.
Well, time to show that I am the boss of me.
I have read many times about a runner's trick of spotting an object in the distance and just running to that object. Then pick the next one and so on. This way, you break the run up into manageable increments.
I decided to go with park trash cans.
"We will just run to THAT trash can", I told myself. When I reached it, I gave myself a mental pat on the back - "Nice work". Ok, on to the next.
When I reached the next one, I imagined the trash can congratulating me. I know it sounds crazy but it got worse from there. I began to mentally "high-five" the trash cans as I went by.
Oi - this must be what mile twenty feels like - only I was at mile 4. I have heard strange and mystic tales of the motivation complete strangers can provide to runners around mile 20 of a marathon. One friend described it as the "voice of God" telling you to keep running.
I began to imagine that I was at mile 20 and each trash can was a spectator urging me on. And it worked.
The Laurel Street bridge became the final mile and the corridors of the buildings became the victory shute. I was reduced to a survival shuffle but finished out my alloted time - 50:19 min / 4.91miles - my own mini marathon (told you I am more Running Joke than Runner)
Nothing hurts so far.
Back at it on Monday . . .
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