Today I ran 13 miles on my own. Tonight, my body is revolting against me.
It wasn’t horrible – except for the shin splint. I’m fairly certain that’s what it is, anyway, but I’m going to go get an injury screening just in case.
It was, above all, another lesson in humility. I can’t force myself to be faster than I am, I can’t force myself to be skinner than I am, I can’t force myself to run more and walk less. All of it takes time and effort, but I’ll get there. On my own terms. No matter how slowly it occurs.
I saw some interesting things along the way, though. There seems to be a dad-stroller club happening in the world. I saw more dads pushing their children as they ran (in the same exact strollers) than I think I’ve ever seen in my life. I also saw an 80-year-old man drop down and do a few pushups, totally randomly, like it was nothing.
I ran a bit harder after that.
The thought crossed my mind that if it took me almost 3 hours (2:54, according to my RunKeeper app) to run 13 miles, does that mean that my family is in for a 6 hour race for the marathon? For your sakes, family, I hope not. And if it does, I’m sorry in advance.
Have a good night, all. I need to elevate my leg. And probably pass out.