The Tortoise vs. the Hare

Last night I had a running epiphany, just before setting out to run 6.5 miles with my beloved.

The day before, he had asked me if I was beginning to resent running--the time, the effort, the lack of delicious cold beer drinking. I responded that of course that wasn't the case...I don't drink much anyway, so there's no change there, and I enjoy discovering the potential of my own body, facing its running-related challenges. The time, though...this year, I've made a conscious effort to follow the training schedule--including cross-training and lifting, in hopes that I can prevent the left-knee gremlin from waking out of his slumber. The end result is, of course, that I am working out ALL THE TIME. I am running 3-4 days a week, and at the gym another two days (and sometimes one of the running days as well) for the alternate workouts. The lone rest day, Wednesday, is spent at a basketball court, keeping stats in return for my free gym membership.

When all I really want some nights is to have dinner, and canoodle with my sweetheart.

Despite my semi-glib response, the truth is that sometimes it IS hard not to resent the training schedule. I can only gripe so much, as I've made, and continue to make, the choice to train as I am. Add to the time constraints that I've been fretting over my pace (very out of character, but I blame that on this being the second go-round), and even the runs themselves have become a little less fun and de-stressful. Add to that--its hard to not feel guilty at these negative feelings, when the ultimate goals isn't really to train for or run the marathon--but to raise needed funds for a very worth cause.

With all of this in mind, and wanting to get back to what lures me to running in the first place, I slinked myself into my suddenly tighter-than-ever tights (how is that even possible, really?), my sweet Red Sox jacket, hat and mittens, and set out with Jared on a snowy river loop...where I proceeded to explain in great detail my epiphany regarding my of-late lackluster and less fun running.

Over casual, happy miles, he played the part of the attentive listener, as I questioned him about the inauguration, rambled about what was going on in my assorted friends' lives, waxed eloquent on why I think he's a 3-4 in basketball, and I'm a 4, rambled about running in general, complained about the way my tights were managing to bunch behind the knees while still managing to compress my thighs more and more with every step, babbled about our puppy, and soliloquized on the purity of the snow-covered Charles. Jared, seeming to know just what I needed, spoke back at length--on all of these topics, and more, reminding me of why I love to run in the first place, that it is an enjoyable endeavor, and one that doesn't have to be fraught with meaning and stress, or, in fact, be anything other than what it really is--just running.

There are runners that are happiest when they are constantly improving, running faster, better, stronger. I would be lying if I didn't say that I love a good PR, and I am fully aware that with my long stride and overall fitness level that were I to truly go for it, I could probably run a qualifying time--not this year, but maybe in 2-3. The truth is, though, that I don't want to be the hare. I want to be the tortoise-- plodding along perhaps, but but a happier and saner woman for it.