I hate this. But don't let me stop.
12:13 PM |
These days it starts out with trepidation, resentment that I am putting myself through it again today. Within a block or two the familiar ache in my shins creeps its way from ankle to knee and I feel I am wearing too thick a T-Shirt. My lips feel chapped, even though I applied Vaseline before I left the house. Dread.
I try and pump myself up by envisioning the toned soccer-playing character in the Traveling Pants movie, the lean legs of the girl in Two-A-Days and the awesome behind of Miss Jessica Simpson in Dukes of Hazzard. That works for a bit. I focus on the path in front of me, not looking up for fear of the daunting view of how far I’ve left to go. I belly breathe to avoid stomach cramps, though on days as hot as today, the eventual side stitch creeps across my belly near the end.
I feel the blood rising to my face, reddening it. I feel my back becoming moist. I stop paying attention to the songs playing on my iPod. I fight the mental war of being convinced it’s too hard. I reach the half-way point, slow my breathing and stretch my hips.
I make mental landmarks. I’ll walk between the footbridge and highway. I’ll sprint between the fire station and the dog park. I count my steps until I forget what number I’m at. I slow down and center my hips because I’m going too fast, I just want to be finished. When I can see my house and the sprint is done my lungs are burning. I am breathing too hard to walk just yet so I slow down my jog. I feel like I’ll explode otherwise. My reward is my stretching today. I feel the cool grass as I stretch my worn shins and calves. I breathe deep into the stretches I’ve earned.
I drink water like it’s been a month. I ice my shins, my ankles, my heels. I massage my feet and avoid the blisters that have formed on the balls of my feet. I take my shirt off as soon as I can and throw my socks off, distancing myself from the hard work they’ve just held.
My breathing slows down in the shower, the cool water on my face doesn’t stop flowing. My legs settle down, the soap washes away the sweat left on my shoulders.
I’ll wash, rinse, repeat it all again tomorrow. Training for the 10k finishes May 26.
I try and pump myself up by envisioning the toned soccer-playing character in the Traveling Pants movie, the lean legs of the girl in Two-A-Days and the awesome behind of Miss Jessica Simpson in Dukes of Hazzard. That works for a bit. I focus on the path in front of me, not looking up for fear of the daunting view of how far I’ve left to go. I belly breathe to avoid stomach cramps, though on days as hot as today, the eventual side stitch creeps across my belly near the end.
I feel the blood rising to my face, reddening it. I feel my back becoming moist. I stop paying attention to the songs playing on my iPod. I fight the mental war of being convinced it’s too hard. I reach the half-way point, slow my breathing and stretch my hips.
I make mental landmarks. I’ll walk between the footbridge and highway. I’ll sprint between the fire station and the dog park. I count my steps until I forget what number I’m at. I slow down and center my hips because I’m going too fast, I just want to be finished. When I can see my house and the sprint is done my lungs are burning. I am breathing too hard to walk just yet so I slow down my jog. I feel like I’ll explode otherwise. My reward is my stretching today. I feel the cool grass as I stretch my worn shins and calves. I breathe deep into the stretches I’ve earned.
I drink water like it’s been a month. I ice my shins, my ankles, my heels. I massage my feet and avoid the blisters that have formed on the balls of my feet. I take my shirt off as soon as I can and throw my socks off, distancing myself from the hard work they’ve just held.
My breathing slows down in the shower, the cool water on my face doesn’t stop flowing. My legs settle down, the soap washes away the sweat left on my shoulders.
I’ll wash, rinse, repeat it all again tomorrow. Training for the 10k finishes May 26.