Thus far, I have had two training sessions. The first, when I completed the now-famous 18 minute mile, was a week ago. The second was this past Saturday. T'was a three miler. THREE MILES?! WTF!!!!
Here's the awful truth I'm learning about myself: I'm a quitter. When the going gets tough, I'm like out the door licketysplit. In my current [woeful] condition, that happens at about the 10 yard line. Or maybe, the twenty--I never have been good at judging distances. I hit this wall--you've heard of The Wall you hit when you're doing endurance stuff? Well, the wall I hit says, "Waaah, no way...this is hard....I can't...oh woe...." The first week, when it was Just A Mile (!), there were lots of cheerleaders along the route with signs and thumbs up and, jeeze, I couldn't cop out in front of all of them, could I? On Saturday, however, it was just me. Me and the dust kicked up by the herd of my fellow runner/walkers who were way, way, way way way ahead of me. I thought about taking a short cut--who would know?--but I didn't. I didn't because it seems grotesque, not to mention shameful, because, really, who was I cheating but myself? I guess I must have an iota of character left.
When I got home, I checked the training schedule. Oh. We were supposed to be doing these training sessions on our own during the week. Oh.
So today, I laced up my new running shoes (which look like U-boats, I'm afraid) and did another three miles. By myself. Yes, I did. Then I came home and died.....