It’s never the first ten klicks. Those are always the same: strong, fast, and loving it.
It’s the second ten, those ten that you haven’t run in a long, long time. Because I haven’t run more than 14 klicks since the last weekend in October, last year, and oh –right — I signed up for a race in two weeks.
Being sick for a couple weeks didn’t help. The cold… and the cold. The Great Cold of 2016 and the weather, too. And here I was, two weeks out and considering if I should forfeit a race entry, or just get out and try the distance. Try it. If not, then maybe it was a forfeit. This was the day… the moment… the trial.
Do or do not, there is no try.
They were supposed to go about 20, the group that has actually been training for this. I joined them, and then I stretched our final tally a bit to bang-on that half distance, twenty-one-point-one, because, heck, what’s another lap around the parking lot between friends?
But as I said, it’s never the first ten klicks. It’s the second ten, that ten when every step seems to be the one requiring the very last gush of energy from deep within your very soul, when your legs are pinging at you to stop because if you don’t they’re quitting, and even the terrible-wonderful encouragement of your running group-mates egging you, beckoning you, nudging you, up that last few steps, that is just barely –barely– enough to keep you from stopping and just calling for a ride home.
I don’t know if I’m ready for the Hypo Half in 2 weeks, and most of you know just how bad of an example this particular training session has been, but if nothing else –all else excluded– and sadly this is what it’s come to: after today I’m caught up on my distance for 2016. (…by 3 klicks, but caught up is caught up, eh?)