How much negative energy can one runner pack into the planning and execution of one long run? In the case of this reluctant runner, plenty. To illustrate, here’s how I got from point A to B this past weekend.
Saturday, 7 a.m: Twenty-four hours until my long run. Although I plan on sleeping in, I wake up with too much on my mind, too many stupid “to do” lists to mentally prepare. Among the mostly-pointless thoughts racing around my head is the panicky realization that I will not be able to sleep in tomorrow so I’d better damned well get back to sleep immediately or this golden opportunity will be lost, lost forever. But that is not a good train of thought for sending myself back off into slumber. I get up and start my day.
Saturday, 8 p.m.: Off to Ottawa’s Scotiabank Place to watch my beloved Ottawa Senators beat the Montreal Canadiens in a pre-season hockey game. I forgo any alcohol because I already have a headache and don’t want to run 14k with a hangover. So I drink a giant, caffeinated diet coke instead. Always thinking, I am.
Sunday, 1 a.m.: Note to self: more booze, less caffeine.
Sunday, 5:45 a.m.: My son has a 7 a.m. hockey practice and my really, really, really nice husband has offered to get up and take him. So I lie in bed and listen to them both get ready and go. Then I can’t get back to sleep. The headache has returned and my lower back has joined the party. I should get up right now, go to the bathroom, take some painkillers and stretch; then maybe I can catch another hour or so of sleep and still get a nice early start on my run. Instead, I toss and turn for 90 minutes before I get up and take care of things. Then I go back to bed and try to get back to sleep.
Sunday, 7:15 a.m.: Okay, I’m really wide awake now. At this point, a smart person would have gotten up and gotten the run over with. Heck, last week I was that smart person. This week, apparently, I’m not. I lie around for another 40 minutes before self-disgust propels me out of bed.
Sunday, 8 a.m.: Will this be one of those mornings where I jump right into my running gear and go, or will it be one of those mornings where I have breakfast, read the paper, and generally procrastinate until the last minute?
Sunday, 9:30 a.m.: Turns out, it was the second kind of morning. However, I’ve eaten, dressed, clipped on my iPod and I am starting my run. Already, I feel like I have already completed the hardest part – getting out the door.
Sunday, 11 a.m.: That wasn’t so bad! I feel energized and virtuous bouncing back into the house, comparing notes with my husband on his run, grossing out the kids with the salty grit that the sweat has left on my temples, enjoying a hot shower.
Sunday, 8 p.m.: Oh God, I really should get a short run in tomorrow. It’s going to be a busy week and I won’t have many opportunities. And it’s only seven days until my next long run.
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