I said I would try not to drop off the map during my shit-storm of a week last week. Clearly, I tried and failed. I had to let blogging fall by the wayside to get to this point with my sanity in tact.
It was one of those weeks that was fantastic and terrible all at once. Work was chaos but I learned a lot of new information and feel like ground was covered in some of my projects. Jeremy started his new job but transitioning to a new-to-him work schedule and studying what he learned in training wore him out, and trying to help him however I could added to my load. We did end the week with a dinner date and seeing a touring Broadway show at the performing arts center which was 100% fantastic.
Marathon training last week was similarly fantastic and terrible. Thursday I felt like I was on point and on track. I had hit all my workouts and hadn’t missed an early morning wake-up call all week.
I planned to do my long run on Friday morning. I had the day off because I was working all day Saturday. Within 2 miles of my first step I was struggling. I wasn’t present mentally, my stomach was already showing signs of rebellion thanks to stomach issues I had been dealing with all week, my legs felt sore and like lead. All while I was attempting to run against 20 mile-per-hour wind.
After under 4 miles I called it quits for the run because my legs and stomach were clearly not going to allow 18 miles to happen. I went to an afternoon BodyPump class instead and decided to give my long run a shot again on Sunday morning.
Sunday morning came quickly enough and when I woke up my head and heart just couldn’t focus on the run. Again, I started struggling within 3 or 4 miles of walking out the door. This time my calf muscles, particularly my left calf, felt sore and tight as a drum. I was mentally apathetic and every fraction of a mile was spent debating whether it was okay to stop.
This went on for some time and it was clear it wasn’t going to improve. Then I hit a literal and hypothetical fork in my run. I could turn left and cut my run short to about 10 miles or I could turn right and push through the rest of the run.
I turned left and 18 miles became 10. When it came down to it, I wanted the next three weeks leading up to and including my marathon to be perfect more than I wanted that already mediocre run to tick in at exactly 18 miles. I could logically see how giving myself this slight mental and physical break in my training could do much more good than harm.
I am pretty proud of my stubborn self for letting my better judgment and future goals win out over my obsessive side that always wants things to go as planned.
When was the last time you had a run go horribly or not as planned? How did you respond?