I went through a range of emotions on Sunday’s run:
My 1.5 minutes of running is already up? That was fast!
This hill is insane. I hope I can walk up the whole thing this time.
I reached the top! I’m awesome!
My knees feel funny. And my hips too. It’s been… 13 or 14 years since I was in good running shape. I feel old. I wonder if I should research some ways to prevent injuring myself.
It’s only been sixteen minutes!? I’m gonna die. And if I ran a marathon I’d be out on the road for at least 5 hours! Three hundred minutes! I’m never doing that.
Only two more minutes and this feels great! I’m not even breathing hard. Maybe I should run four times a week instead of three.
And later that night I chatted with a neighbor who I knew was thinking about running the Big Sur half marathon. She hadn’t signed up yet. She was having a hard time committing. So, of course, I did what any good neighbor would do. I helped her commit by committing myself.
Yup, that’s right. I’m going to run a half marathon in November! Trying not to think about the 13.1094 miles I’ll be travelling *on my feet*. That’s 69,217.632 feet.
Nope, not scared at all.