A new Long.

There was much apprehension in approaching my Saturday morning. Perhaps through divine intervention, I had zero luck scrounging up anyone to commit to running all or any of my sixteen mile training run with me. I couldn’t exactly blame them—the furthest I’ve ever run is a half marathon, so the idea of running sixteen miles seemed impossible. As far as my experience was concerned, it was impossible! So there were some negative thoughts running through my head the night before. 

I think my children had an inkling of what was to come, because they decided going to bed early was not on their list of things to do Friday night. Instead, they (both the six month old and the two year old) stayed up until 11 despite our best efforts. The husband also was struggling with some work related issues, so we were up late processing. By the time sleep was even an option, the 5 a.m. alarm seemed comical with its absurdity. Instead, with very little convincing from the husband, it was decided my “alarm” would be when the six month old woke up for the day. 

That alarm wasn’t too terribly late—6:20—but then after pumping, grabbing something to eat, and then heading out to Olathe Lake, it was 7:30 and already 75 degrees. My initial plan had me running until about 8, when it was supposed to have warmed up to a maximum of 74 degrees. I could tell this was going to be a hot one. 

The husband was kind enough to ride the course with the kids in the bike trailer going in the opposite direction, which meant we met each other 2-3 times per lap. That was enough to get me water without me having to wear a belt, which was eight shades of delightful as I had given into temptation and consumed a Fiber One bar at 10:30 the night before (darn you, Oats and Chocolate! Gets me EVERY TIME).

The course was hilly. The training plan said to go 60-90 seconds over goal pace, which put me at 9:30-10:00 per mile. With all the hills, and having not done that distance before, I was feeling concerned about maintaining that pace. When I hit 12 miles, though, and felt awesome, I had the following conversation in my head:

Self: Hey, remember when you first bought running shoes from a running store, and the guy said not to go out and run 20 miles the next day in them?

Me: Yeah. I laughed because I NEVER thought I would run 20 miles at once. Ever.

Self: Well, you’re feeling pretty good. Really good. Maybe today is the day. Just do an extra lap on this four mile loop. No big deal.

Me: Yeah! No big deal! How great would that be?

It was runner’s euphoria. In my previous half marathons, it was at this point where I had to convince my legs to keep moving. For some odd reason, though, my lungs felt great, my calves felt even better, and my quads were just a touch sore. 

The conversation I had just two miles later on a steep uphill was drastically different. 

Me: This is STUPID. Who on earth would ever CHOOSE to run UP A HILL?

Self: Why is it even legal for them to make roads on hills? That’s the real injustice. Someone should be impeached.

Me: I. HATE. HILLS.

Self: “Sadism” is probably in the job description.

It was all I could do to make it the last two miles. And even with the stupid, stupid hills, I managed an average 9:59 pace. Just barely within the training requirement, but by golly, I’ll take “just barely.”