It Wasn't Pretty

Saturday got away from me; so Sunday had to be a long run worth logging. In the end, it was somewhere around 18 miles, looping extra long across 95, before turning west to head all the way to Cooper City. I took a break at the Publix there at the corner of Douglas and Sheridan and I was already spent. I'd gotten caught in a squall on the last stretch in and was soaked through; my feet were squishy with water, my visor was no protection from rain washing down my hair, I was cold, my legs hurt....and I still needed to go all the way back. With the extra beginning loop this was a 10 mile mark. Discouragement was all I could feel. I tried to remember what it was like running the Half last year, standing in the chute in the dark, in the pouring rain....but by mile 10 I was almost home....this time 10 miles would be more towards the beginning than the end, and here I was, dog tired.....

By the time I headed out, the rain had passed, leaving gusty gray streaks of clouds in its wake, puddles in the sidewalks, drifts of water from the passing cars....I kept trying to find the gait that would dampen the discomfort as I came to Sheridan and University and decided to go all the way long, and find the cut to Arthur which would make it the longer loop. By doing so, I gain a long straight stretch to 441 in a quiet neighborhood where traffic and sidewalks are not the issue; finding that stride, that gait that takes me beyond discomfort and pain is. I battled with myself; I became at once angry, discouraged, immensely fatigued; I wanted to quit then and there, hitch-hike home and toss my shoes away. I wouldn't accept that after all this time, at mile...whatever...I was still feeling like this...how could I ever run past the distance of a half-marathon without tanking? It just did not seem remotely possible.

I took every portion from that point on in small bits. At University and Taft I had to walk to 58th...Once I got back onto Thomas and the last long straight stretch, I tried to forget about everything, to find the long vision that would bring me home.
Strangely, it was probably the last mile, maybe less that I found a groove...a few strides or pushes where something seemed okay, to meld with the road. I like to think it relates to the horse coming into the barn, and the instinctive anticipation of the end of a long journey. Every run seems to have this animal feeling towards the end, the pleasure of completion, of coming in from the Big Trip. By then, rounding up Park, and stopping to a walk by the apartments, I could hardly move....
I kept thinking its just 6 more, but nahhh....its EIGHT PLUS more....8 is what I do on my week-day runs...8 is a regular day. Add that to yesterday, to survival, squalls, cold, fatigue, despair; and THAT is the MARATHON...

I am suddenly scared....I want to quit. I received the E-card for registration last week, and I see my name and number. It doesn't seem remotely possible that when I line up with other runners, I can legitimately wish for the finish. How can I get my optimism back? In time??