After ending last week’s running on a high note with a good five-miler, I was eager to bang out my 11 miles on Sunday. Long story short, I didn’t quite make it. At 9 miles it was in the mid 70s with a humidity high enough to make it feel like I was wearing a steaming-hot turban. I was hot, soaked, and parched, so I called it a day. Yes, I fell two miles short of my goal; and, no, I didn’t finish it any faster than I did last fall. (Well, 11 seconds faster…) But I don’t consider it an EPIC fail because according to my log last fall’s 9 miler was done at 40 degrees–a much more suitable running temperature for me. I’m just kind of getting concerned now because I’ve only got one more long run before the half on the 24th. I WILL get in 12 miles next Saturday if I have to get up before dawn to make it happen!
I’m trying to play it smart today and listen to my body. I’m in Knoxville visiting my sister. I’m not familiar with the area and don’t know any good places to run. And she’s not a runner, so she doesn’t know the hot spots either. But she said that she had seen lots of people running on a street not far from her apartment complex. I set out this morning to put in five miles on that street. Well, actually it was a concrete sidewalk beside the street. In less than two miles, I had this going on:
Left knee: “I’m not so sure about this concrete stuff.”
Right knee: “Yeah, me neither. This doesn’t feel like it does at home.”
Me: “Shut up, you’ll be fine. It’s just five miles.”
Right knee: “Oh yeah? You think so? Take this!”
Me: “Ouch! Stop that!”
Left knee: “And how about a little of THIS?”
Me: Silence. (I’m hoping if I ignore them they’ll go away.)
Right SHIN: “You knees are amateurs. If you want her to quit, THIS is how you do it.”
They won. I didn’t figure it was worth risking an injury just to one-up my body for today.