W6D3: Mas O Menos

In First Year High School Spanish, lesson #1 is introducing yourself & exchanging meaningless pleasantries (useful...thanks, Mrs. Mickelson).  One of the few things I remember from that exercise is how to tell your new Latin friend that you are feeling mediocre.

New Latin Friend: "Como estas?" 
Me: "Mas o menos." 

Literal translation: More or less.  My translation: Meh.

This morning's run was quite the mixed bag of highs & lows--meh.  I've been slacking a bit, which had a way of compounding on itself to slacking a lot.  Last night Dave, sensing my inertia (or lack thereof) was getting to a critical juncture asked me what I needed to get me out the next morning.  Face down into my pillow, I mumbled that my sports bras were all dirty & promptly fell asleep.  He stayed up & washed, dried & laid out clean gear for me...tricksie devil.  I couldn't just ignore his effort & snooze my alarm after he did all of that for me.

When I turned on my iPod to see what C25K had in store for me, I almost turned back around & gave Dave the blow off: run 25 minutes straight?!?!  What kind of shenanigans is that?

I decided to mix my route up & just wander the neighborhood because my motivation was low & I didn't want to have a visual of exactly how far I still had to go before I would be done.  It felt like a good choice at the time...

When I finished my warm-up & started running I was 100% certain that my legs had been replaced with pool noodles filled with Swedish fish...rubbery, plastic-y worthlessness.  I pushed through those fish & found a groove & actually started to feel good.  Maybe I could run for 25 minutes--not fast, but sufficient.

I found the zone.  The area was hillier than my recent route, so it was a little harder, but it was good.  I was making good progress & was avoiding looking at my remaining time...dare I say I was feeling good until...

"Super 8?!?!  There's not a Super 8 by my house."  Dag-nabit I got lost in my own neighborhood again.  I REALLY thought I was going the opposite direction of the business district that is near my home.  Nope.  Not only did I end up running by a VERY busy street during rush hour, but it was all uphill & I KNEW that I had gone too far out to be able to be back by the end of my half hour. 

As I was gasping up the hill I had 8 minutes to go.  All I wanted was to make it to the corner & off of the busy road in the 8 minutes so I could walk the rest of the way home in peace.  As I passed multiple car dealerships, all I could do was fantasize about hotwiring a car & driving home...except I don't know how to hotwire.  Blast! 

I got to the corner in 5 minutes, which was nice, but then I completely ran out of gas.  I lost my legs & had to stop.  And then I cried (probably more like gasped & sputtered).  I only ran 22 of the 25 minutes.  Even now I am so ashamed & angry.  Did I really "have" to stop?  Would it have killed me to run for 3 more minutes?  What did I gain by quitting besides a sense of failure at not being able to complete a run for the first time?

After walking for a couple of minutes, I ran again to make up for my lost time, but it wasn't the same.  I fumed the rest of the way home feeling guilty that I probably had something left in the tank after all.  I was so mad at myself...until I looked at my Nike+.  My little detour got me my first ever 5K: 41' 46".  Hard to feel bad about that, but ultimately I guess I just feel "meh."