I had an awful run on Saturday. I was up early (ish) but not to run, I had volunteered to be the official parkrun photographer this week instead. It was a relatively mild morning, but I was standing around in the cold waiting for the finishers to come through the 'chute'. I didn't drink much water; it was cool and once the runners started to come in I couldn't stop taking shots. One of the other volunteers was well organised, she was heading straight to the gym to run on the treadmill. I was going home to run.
Neither my mind nor my body wanted to run, but I laced up my shoes and was out the door before either could persuade me otherwise. I had planned on an out and back run (about 4km each way), followed by a loop around our local lake (about another 4km), which would round out about 50km for the week.
From the very first step it was crap. My phone was flat; so I had no music to run to. Even though it was 'warm' my hand were cold. I'd find myself walking almost without realising I had stopped running. I hated every minute of it. At my turn around point I stopped to practice some mindfulness; I hoped that I could get my head back into it and finish strongly. It didn't work. I pushed back to the start (with a few walk breaks) but I knew there was no way I was going to manage the lake as well. As soon as I got home I tried to pick myself up with a giant bubble bath but it didn't help; I was down and dispirited and doubting my running.
So I have speed work in 45 minutes, and I am dreading it. 6 * 1000m. I threw a few into some of last week's runs so I know I can maintain the right pace but I am scared. There really is no other word for it. Dan asked me this morning what was the worst thing that could happen, and I know disappointment with myself is the worst outcome but argh.
The hardest step for a runner is the first step out the door.
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