May 21st 2018
Today I tried to go for a long(er than usual) run. I, perhaps ambitiously, agreed very early on in the day to go for a group 10k run at lunchtime with 10-or-so people from work. Because there was a mix of abilities among the group I thought I’d be pretty safe, because I haven’t run that far in a while and I didn’t know how well I’d cope.
Not well, it turns out. Although it started as a ten person run, it quickly split into two five-person runs with the peloton* leading the chasing pack. I, perhaps foolishly, ended up to begin with in the leading group at a pace far beyond what I was comfortable with.
Well, I was comfortable with it, but maybe for 1km, and not 10.
Right now I’m struggling with an expectation of what I think I can do and the reality of what I can actually do. I think I can run a 5 minute kilometre, and I can, but I can’t run ten of them. In a row. Without stopping. In 25 degree heat. Having had nothing to eat or drink all day.
I made it to 4.5k before I became stationary. And then I walked. And then I ran a little bit. And then I walked. And then I ran a little bit.
I didn’t have a stitch, or trouble breathing, or bad legs. I was just done. I got to the point where I told myself “nope” and I could not for the life of me break that rut. That’s thematically relevant for various other parts of my life right now, so I spent most of the run-walk home flitting between contemplating the nuances of life and being infuriated at my consistent habit of hitting a wall and accepting it, instead of breaking through it. We’re talking about running, of course.
Until tomorrow, or, as it may be in this particular case… walking.
*I know it shouldn’t be called a peloton of runners, but I couldn’t be arsed to think of the actual word.