Today I was at the gym, and I had the sudden urge to just start bawling. Maybe I should start with the fact that I decided to do my 6.5-mile long run before hitting legs at the gym. That was the worst mistake of my life—but I’ll probably do it again at some point, convincing myself it wasn’t that bad.
Anyway, back to my original point. My run sucked so fucking bad today. Every mile felt like an uphill battle—and maybe that was because I was running up so many hills. But I swear something about the hills felt different today. Or maybe it was the fact that I was overly prepared with way too many layers, and my forehead was burning from the sun. Mind you, it was only 27°F, but I felt like I was on fire.
My legs felt so heavy, and all I could think was: What if this was race day? What if I felt this way during my marathon—four miles in and already suffering? What the fuck would I do for 22.2 more miles?
Once that thought crossed my mind, my eyes started to pool with tears until one actually fell. I realized I was in public and quite literally sucked the other tear back into my eye before it could fall. I finished my last set of RDLs and ran out the gym door. I was panicked.
I cannot fathom running a race in that much pain. I would be miserable, and I’m so, so scared right now that I won’t make it on race day. RACE DAY THAT’S IN FUCKING JUNE. It’s February, and I’m panicked now—three weeks into training.
God, I wish my mind would just chill out. But I do expect that at least this whole week of running is going to be rough. I’ve been having too many joy runs… it’s time for me to suffer and forget the reason I love running.
You gotta love it.