Yesterday I finally hit the street for my run. I went into it knowing that it would be different, and harder in a lot of ways, than running on the treadmill. But it wasn't until I started that I knew what kinds of different and difficult it would be. I mapped out a straight shot through town (I live in a place that isn't actually classified as a town because it is so small, and I went down the road to the next place over, which is still small.) I knew where 1.6 miles from where I started was, so that I would know when to turn around and head back. It was relatively flat, or so I thought. So I parked my car and started my run.
The first few minutes were really, really awkward. I had a really hard time getting a steady pace going, and it was just a different stride on the pavement. I finally got into a groove, had my breathing somewhat even, and was just going. Only to find out pretty soon that my initial pace? Was TOO fast. So that by the time I had gone about a mile, I knew I wasn't going to make it that way. So I slowed down a bit and kept on going. I made it through the halfway/turn back point without stopping, but it wasn't pleasant and it took a LOT of internal dialogging about how I was not going to give up before I had even gone halfway. As I was headed back towards town, though, with my legs aching and my breathing coming in somewhat jagged inhales, I had to take a minute to walk and regroup. It wasn't far - not more than ten steps or so, before I was running again, despite the fact that my body was angry about it.
Turns out that headed back into town is at a slight incline. Not so noticeable in a car, but on my feet? Crap. But I kept going, kept pushing, for a while, until I had to walk for another minute or so. Lame. But once again I only allowed myself a minute before I was running again. With all intentions of not stopping anymore. And that jived for a while, as painful and difficult as the running was becoming. My abs were amazingly sore from workout class the day before, and I had to keep telling myself that I was not going to be sick, that the soreness was no big deal, and to focus on something else. Oh, and I had to pee. Mostly the whole time. Did you know that bouncing up and down for miles is not easy on a full bladder? Whodda think?
Anyhow, I was nearing the actual main thoroughfare of town when suddenly I was walking again - like I hadn't even been thinking about doing it but all of a sudden my legs. Just. Stopped. And I muttered a bad word under my breath at my body's mutiny. But I once again gave it about a half minute before I picked up the pace again. At that point I could see the stoplight that marked the end of my run, and I told myself that under no circumstances was I going to stop and walk again before I got to it. And I didn't.
All in all I probably walked less than an eighth of a mile, but it felt like so much more. I was so angry that I had to walk at all. That wonderful feeling I had from running the distance on the treadmill on Tuesday? Gone. Like a puff of smoke. All I felt was failure, disappointment, and frustration. It was not a good morning. Luckily I came home to breakfast and a day with my hubby and kids.
Today I was back in the gym for cardio and weights, and while I did the workout and put all the effort into it that I usually do, I just wasn't feeling it. I came home and told Hubby that I am out of the zone. The weight-loss, exercise, motivation zone. I gained weight last week, so far this week isn't looking much better, I am sore and feel beaten up all the time, and I am tired. I am officially in a funk. And believe me, I am funk-y. And not the good kind. No visits to Funky Town here. Maybe Funk-y Town. And it isn't nearly as fun or crazy.
So what do I do to start feeling it again? If you have made it this far in this page of blah and negativity, do you have any advice for me?