I broke down yesterday. But first, the usual update about the weekend long run…
I planned on running before the Easter egg hunts at 10 a.m. Saturday, but I was still getting ready to get out the door at 7. Then a rain/snow mix started blowing sideways out of my window. Then I heard T Junior singing. “We will, we will…Bock You!” over the monitor.
I’ll go tomorrow. There would be no time on Saturday for 10 miles because we did two egg hunts with friends, then lunch, then we were going to an RV show to look for a new motorhome. I didn’t mind. I was enjoying my family.
Easter Sunday. T Junior got his basket, hunted for the eggs we dyed the night before and the ones the Easter bunny hid. He played with his new Thomas train, and we just all hung out in our PJs. He definitely didn’t want to go down for his nap.
And when he did, he cried in his crib. This is unusual. He’ll talk to himself or sing, but he doesn’t normally cry. So I cried, too, because I felt like a mean mommy. He’d been having so much fun, but the tired signs were there. I got ready for my run as I sobbed.
I didn’t feel like going. I wanted to stay home and relax.
The trees were being pushed and pulled in all directions by an unpredictibly gusty wind. It didn’t look fun out there. It looked dark and stormy. Like I felt.
But I went. *sigh*
I didn’t drive to the trail, I chose to run around town. First, I made my usual loop through the main intersection, but instead of coming back into my neighborhood, I continued down the side of the highway. I ran angry westbound in the bike lane of the eastbound traffic. I don’t like running with the flow of traffic because I can’t see what’s coming up behind me. That rule just doesn’t make any sense to me.
By foot, I explored neighborhoods I’ve always driven by, but never been in. I discovered new streets and got a closer look at things I see every day, but normally at 50 miles per hour.
The wind was so strong sometimes, I couldn’t hear my music. But it was not constant, so it was bearable.
Toward the middle of my 10-miler, I decided to make it 11 miles. Next week, I have 15 miles planned and I feel like that is a big jump. But I felt like stopping at 8 on Sunday’s run. Somehow, I struggled through it. Somehow, I kept a 10:38 pace. Somehow, my grumpy mood must’ve been blown away with the blossoms from the flowering trees.
4/4/10 – 11 Miles – 1:57:09
Average Pace: 10:38
Mile 1: 10:38
Mile 2: 10:13
Mile 3: 10:27
Mile 4: 10:33
Mile 5: 10:40
Mile 6: 10:40
Mile 7: 10:40
Mile 8: 10:48
Mile 9: 10:38
Mile 10: 10:45
Mile 11: 10:59
But that night, I was down again. Here’s what I journaled, and I still feel this way:
Should I quit marathon training?
I just spent an hour swiping tears and snot off my face with a Kleenex.
I am beating myself up physically and emotionally. How do people balance running a household (wife, mom, cooking, cleaning), holding down a job and training to run 26.2 miles?
I’m just done. I’m done with trying to fit it all in. The mid-week long runs, the weekend long-runs, the short runs, the hill workouts, the hydration, the going to bed early, the being tired, the blisters, the scheduling. Done. And I’m done blogging about it.
I’m done with this stupid dream that I don’t even know why I have in the first place.
Can’t I be just as happy running 5Ks, 10Ks and a half marathon here and there? That would mean running three times a week if I can fit it in and maybe a long run of 10 or less miles on the weekend. I could still get fit. I could still lose weight. I could still be proud of myself.
I’m just tired. And I feel selfish. Too much me time. I know I deserve some me time, but not this much. It’s so much time that other things I should be doing get pushed aside. And when I do have time, I’m too tired to do the things I didn’t have time to do before.
The living room hasn’t been dusted since I picked up the Christmas decorations. (T Junior’s) toys have somehow multiplied and strategically taken over the house. Seriously, the entire house. Last night, I turned down the sheets on the bed and found a small yellow dump truck. I don’t know when the last time I vacuumed the stairs was. I’m barely keeping my head above dishes and laundry.
And I’m not even half way done with marathon training. Why do I even want to run a stupid marathon anyway?
It’s so stupid. I don’t even know why I am doing this. It’s just one of those things I never thought I could do, but always wanted to. “Just one of those things” means I can’t describe it and so I am going with “just one of those things” because there’s no other way I can say it.
Tonight, (Mr. T) said I’m too far into it to stop now (even though, I’m sure he’d be happier if I quit). I sat across from him with my head down in defeat, and I used a wet tissue to catch a tear making its way down my cheek. “If I quit, I think I would regret it.” I peeked at my husband and saw he was watching me with his creamy brown eyes.
“I think you would, too.”