Perspective through 18 miles or less

I'm trying to remind myself today how lucky I am to be here, to be healthy, and to be a runner. Sometimes it's pretty easy to wallow in our own self-pity (or at least it is for me) and to lose perspective of just how lucky we are. I keep falling into that trap in my exhausted state today, and so I thought that putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard, as the case might be) might help to remind me just how much I have to be thankful for.

This past weekend was a bit of a running hell for me. It came rather unexpectedly, because last Thursday's interval session in the Park was a pretty big success, all things considered. Zdenek and I ran fast, we felt okay, and because we're approaching taper time, we only had to log seven miles total. Friday was a prescribed rest day, so I finished Thursday's workout feeling pretty positive about the scheduled 18 miler (half of it at race pace) for Saturday morning.

Unfortunately, Thursday and Friday nights were restless ones for reasons that I still can't put my finger on. I slept poorly, woke up early (i.e., 4 am-ish), and couldn't relax enough to doze off again. This is very atypical for me, as I've always been very proud of my sleeping abilities. I'm usually out like a light within five minutes of my head hitting the pillow, though I know this (a) probably just indicates that I'm sleep deprived, and (b) ticks Zdenek off, since he doesn't possess this cat-like power. So it was with much frustration and anxiety that I found myself up with the chirping birds on Saturday morning, debating whether or not to just put on my running gear and attempt my 18 miles on a cumulative total of about 11 hours of shut-eye over the last 48 hours. Thinking that I'd just nap later in the day, I decided to go for it around 6 am.

The Good: Central Park at 6 am on a weekend morning is a beautiful place to be. My companions consisted mostly of road cyclists eager to get in their speedy miles before the wandering tourists arrived, and the roads were pretty void of runners at that hour. As the sun was rising over the pond and the air was a cool 12 degrees Celsius, I was, for a brief moment in time, happy that I had made the decision to forgo another attempt at catching a few zzzzs.

The Bad: Within about an hour, the Park was full of the usual characters, and my tranquility was lost. I also started to get very tired. Nine miles in, at which point I had to kick it into a higher gear for the "race pace" portion of my run, I was starting to seriously question my ability to finish this run in tact.

The Ugly: The last six miles saw me stop repeatedly for prolonged walks, take a bathroom break at the Central Park boathouse, and cut 0.5 miles and four big hills off my run because I simply didn't think I could manage it without collapsing. My chance for one final, solid long run before the marathon was wasted.

As you can imagine, this outcome left me feeling pretty discouraged and frustrated. I won't get that training opportunity back, I exhausted myself but spent the rest of the day unable to relax enough to take the nap I was so looking forward to, and, once again, I began questioning my level of preparedness for my race. But a few other things have happened over the last few days that I'm trying to bear in mind to help put things in perspective.

First, in light of my poor physical and emotional state, my husband has actually promised me a backrub tonight. This is a huge deal and I am putting it in writing, here in my blog, so that I can hold him to it. If I had saved a dollar every time I got a backrub from him in the first year of our relationship, and then spent a dollar every time I got a backrub in every year after that, I think I would still have about $100 (which, coincidentally, would have allowed me to just pay a professional for 60 minutes of deep tissue massaging bliss today). Second, aside from my disastrous running and sleeping episodes, the rest of my weekend was filled with warm weather, the company of good friends on each night, and a bounty of delicious food and drink. It's hard to be a complainer when you take a minute to realize that you have very little to complain about. Third, on a serious and very significant note, two of my close friends each lost a loved one in the last week. The message here is an obvious one that we hear frequently but rarely take to heart: treat every day as your last, because one day, it will be.

I'm trying to remind myself to be thankful for my health, abilities, and good fortunes. Sometimes all it takes are 18 bad miles (or 17.5, to be exact) to remind you how good you have it.