Okay, so today was the much-hyped 9-mile day. The day I predicted would determine if I had what it took to finish a marathon. The day on which everything else hinged. So I’ll just jump right to it.
I did not run 9 miles today.
I know, I know, and before you start to a) rest content in your smug assurance that I never had it in me or b) tell me this isn’t the end of the line, I just have to keep training, please let me explain.
To get a better mental idea of what nine miles looked like, I charted a nine-mile course on the site Map My Run and was a little dismayed by how much terrain 9 miles actually covered. Then, I missed my easy 3 mile training run on Thursday. Friday’s high intensity interval training class kicked my ass — this morning, two days later, my quads and my upper body were still sore from that workout. Then, last night, we went to my friend Philip’s birthday party, except before that of course we went out for tapas, where I had a glass of wine, and then at the party I had two beers. And not light beers. Super delicious rich beers with a lot of body.
This morning it was kinda snowy, kinda sunny, and too cold to run outside for a wimp like me. Also, Nikki couldn’t run with me, as she is just getting over the flu.
So, there you have it. I did not run 9 miles.
Because I ran ten, suckas! Ten Miles! I ran ten miles today! Woo hoo! Woo hoo! (Singsong voice: I ran ten miles. I ran ten miles.).
On the treadmill, at the gym. It took 2 hours and ten minutes for me to run ten miles, but I did it. I drank a whole 32 oz. bottle of Powerade, but I did it.
10 mile dance! 10 mile dance! Except, it might a kinda slow and achy dance.
And, I really wanted to stop at 7 miles, but I didn’t. And I got an ache in my hip but I ran through it. And my neck and shoulder got a kink, but I ran through that as well. At the 7 mile point, I reminded myself of my conviction that if I couldn’t pull off 9 miles today, I would not be able to finish a marathon. It gave be a big kick of motivation to keep pushing through the molasses.
People on the treadmills next to me came and went. I kept running. For the first half hour, I listened to Second Story podcasts (ending with Megan Stielstra’s awesome recorded-live New Years Eve tribute to the 2008 that was), and then I switched to the rather ridiculous playlist I (actually Nikki) uploaded to my IPod. Ridiculous because I have a very strange assorment of music in my ITunes. I kind of ignore my own ITunes catalog, because Nikki has, like, tens of thousands of songs, so I usually count on her for all things musical. 90% of my personal music library is classical or classic jazz — not exactly the stuff to get your body moving. The other music I have is a hodge-podge from past interests and projects (a video, for example, that I made for my mom’s 70th birthday). So, my 10-mile soundtrack included “Suspicious Minds” by Elvis, “I’ll Take You There” by the Staple Sisters, some Johnny Halliday (the French Elvis), Simon & Garfunkel’s “Mrs Robinson,” Alanis Morrisette (I’m not going to lie: “You Oughta Know” was kick-ass to run to), Missy Elliot, JT, Peaches, and then, when I reached mile nine, and was deciding whether I wanted to stop or push out one more mile, it was Britney Spears, asking me to hit her one more time, that propelled me to the finish line.
Hey, whatever works. In any case: YAY!!!
Now I am going to go watch the rest of the Bulls/Heat game and enjoy a well-deserved beer.
Week four is in the books.