Beautiful, but deadly on the night of January 2, 2011.
I have no idea what I was thinking. I ran 4 miles on Thursday after playing 1.5 hours of a crunching, bruising game of indoor "kill your football coach" (best friend and I being the coaches). Friday being new year's eve, I got swept away by the idea of closing out the year with a 5 miler on the most beautiful 5k course on Guam, which also happens to be uphill for at least half of it. New year's day I felt the need to start off the year on the right foot with a 6 mile run. That foot was sore and quite angry.
Come the long run of the week that should not be missed no matter what you do during the week of short runs, I'm thoroughly fatigued, and carrying a hangover that started Friday morning. What should have been 15 miles was shortened to 12 due to Mister being back late from watching UFC fights. Almost canceled it, but as I had my fanny pack of fluids and my recovery drink prepared, upon his return I quickly threw my gear on and headed out for the run.
From the second I took off I felt tightness in every muscle from tush to toe. To make it even more fun, it goes right into a 45 degree angled hill. My calves were pissed off! They seized up in "pre-cramp conditions" and didn't let up till 3 miles in. Throughout the run I watched ambulances and police vehicles fly up and down my course. It gave me a feeling of dread that I couldn't shake. I decided to reduce the run to 10 miles because of it. Little did I know that some silly woman running in the dark was not in danger that night, but Guam had lost two of her babies to the waters. The interesting thing was that I had run alongside a bay and noticed the water was unusually high and choppy. I wondered why there were people still in the water with their kids in the dark. Anyway, that was the reason I cut the run short. Not because I was slackity slackin'.
Thank goodness I decided to cut it short though because every step for the final three miles was excruciating. The one thing that I have a hard time doing is walking. The only time I've ever walked during a run was when I had children with me. Even when I was pregnant I at least made the motions of running. Having it beaten into my head for 10+ years by my football coaches that walking means you are not starting 11 material has traumatized me. Walking means quitting in my warped mind. I was THIS close to doing it, but gimped through. What did I achieve with that? Not a damn thing. There's no team to make, and I felt like crap afterward.
What did I learn from this past week of pain and torture? I'm not 20 anymore, holiday cheer and lack of sleep have a huge affect on recovery between runs, and if I'm my only competition, I will always win, so walking to avoid injury and totally hating the experience isn't the horrible thing I make it out to be.
15 miles down. 985 to go.