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Thursday, September 30, 2010


A half of something seems like it should be small.  Or at least smaller. 

But I guess when you halve 26, you're still left with 13. 

Which, no matter how you slice that cake, it's a whole bunch of cake.

I decided, since I was out sick for the MDI half a couple of weekends ago, that I would do the Hampden Half Marathon- a self-proclaimed non-race with nary a spectator, cheerleader, water stop or finish line.  You see, it's hard to train for something and not do it so I just decided I would do it.  It was in this spirit that I first started running and I ran my first half marathon as a 13.1 mile loop from home and back to home.

This would be a worthwhile place to insert that our shared family sickness of a few weeks ago took a while to truly leave my body and I have been left feeling fatigued, needing extra sleep, and dragging during workouts.  I postponed the Hampden Half from Monday to Thursday for this very reason.

I was still on the fence yesterday afternoon about running it today.  But, this is one of the those parts of myself that I love and admire and which makes me certifiably insane.  I ran today feeling like I would rather be walking, rather be sitting on the couch, rather be in jury duty, rather, gasp, be taking care of kids.  In other words, today's run was not unlike my marathon run when I had to work hard for every mile.  Today was work.  And yet I ran, marveling that I have the balls to make my body go out and do something it might not be entirely on board with.

I intentionally walked the big hills and found it hard every time to get running again.  I made it hard for myself by squeezing the half in between school drop offs and work so walking too much, although greatly desired, wasn't too much of a choice.  I have never planned walking into a run and in fact think I have only ever walked in a run from sheer exhaustion during the marathon. But I knew that I had to budget my energy and that I was out there to do it, not to get a PR, but just going for completion.

In the end, I think that my lungs are still just a little to vulnerable from that virus.  No matter.  I did it anyway and I am proud that I finished it having run 95% of it.  I must be maturing because I kind of feel like being proud instead of disappointed.  Will maturity know no ends?
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