If I want to hit 60 miles for June, anyways. And I will, dammit. So after I draft this post, finish drying my running shirt (note: do laundry) and pee 3 times I will go. At least 4 miles. Maybe 4.5. Then I can hit 60 for June and not suck at the Lululemon half I signed myself up for. I’ve been told multiple times that I haven’t been running enough to do a half, and they’re probably right, but I will run that half. Or die trying.
I can’t do this run tomorrow since I want to take a day off before tackling 6 miles on Friday. 6 miles. Urgh. Most of the confidence from Sunday’s 5 miler has evaporated, so I’m back to feeling incredibly nervous about this one.
(IMAGINE ME RUNNING HERE)
Here’s a photo to make that easier:
So how’d I do?
Well I felt like crap throughout. Constant stomach cramps. My right foot, ankle and lower leg hurt. And whatever in my knee I managed to tweak turning around – not even getting anywhere, just turning on the spot – showed up to the party too. Much like that moderately attractive yet completely hammered boy who insists on sitting on your lap. Oh. That doesn’t happen to you? Just me? Fine. Whatever. Other things that only happen to me? Being
attacked by shat on (shitted on?) by a crow. ’twas probably a sign,
I hope my beautiful diagram was helpful. The 8:19 overall pace I like – it’s my fastest pace at a 4 mile distance so I’m happy with that. But there is zero reason I should be running a sub 8 first mile and then dying in the next two. I better not positive split my half like this.
So yeah. Apparently I can still deliver even with my wonky legs. And my knee still hurts. I don’t even know what I did to it. Or how. I just turned!
And now I leave you with the pretty place I get to run.
That river looks pretty and blue and innocent. Don’t be fooled. It’s actually greyish green and probably toxic. And it’s definitely not innocent – that path I run on is the dyke that keeps it from overflowing and flooding my poor little sea level city.