I’ve decided that the first three miles are the absolute worst three miles of any run. My body completely disagrees with me about what we should be doing.
My brain: “Let’s go for a run! It will be cold outside and we can work on rebuilding our cardiovascular stamina!”
My body: “Let’s go for a nap! There will be lots of blankets!”
This is how things went yesterday, when I dragged myself kicking and screaming for four miles. It was awful. I walked a million times, was passed by someone more than twice my age and generally felt awful. By the time I got back to my car, I was sure my outing lasted 56 hours. When I checked my phone, though, I was so excited to see that I was only 30 slower than my race pace. My race pace? Oh yes. That’s how fast I was going. (And when I say “fast” I mean “less slow than normal.”)
How on earth did that happen? I felt terrible the whole time. It all goes back to getting your body to agree with your brain. For me, it took the entire run. But at least the ending was exciting.