It took me six weeks… SIX WEEKS! Six out of the twelve weeks in my training for a half-marathon to feel good during my run.
For the past six weeks, I’ve barely been able to finish any of my runs, sometimes only making it half a mile before calling it quits. I spent countless hours on the phone crying to my friends about how I can’t run anymore or asking if they would pick me up if I bailed on my run. I have hated every second of every run for the last six weeks—until last Wednesday.
That day, I ran seven miles with electrolytes on my back and Nerds Gummy Clusters in my pocket. The run was “easy.” At points, my feet didn’t feel great, but I finished all seven miles without walking for a single second. I ran them slow and didn’t force myself to hit a certain pace. I encouraged myself the whole way through, and not once did I tell myself I was a piece of shit for being slow or doubting I could finish.
During my run, I listened to Morgan Wallen—the song Miami, to be exact. I played it on repeat for almost an hour and a half.
And as I ran, I remembered.
I remembered what it was like to run bored.
I remembered what it was like for running to be mind over matter again.
I remembered what it was like to believe in myself again.
Most of all, I remembered that I don’t give up. Oh well, if it took six weeks to feel a difference—the point is, I kept trying. I reminded myself that I can do hard things, and through it all I remembered how much joy I actually get from running.
I can’t say that running is ever truly easy, but the mental benefits will always outweigh the pain.
Also, just a little side note: life definitely got better when I started to eat chicken thighs again. FUCK CHICKEN BREAST and the lean, rubbery shit it tastes like on the third day of reheating it for meal prep. God, I don’t know who convoluted my mind to think a little chicken fat and skin was going to make me fat… it’s protein either way, baby. Protein I actually enjoy eating.
But I digress—for now.