On Monday, I ran 10 miles. In a row.
Do you know how far that is? If you were to drive that at 60 miles per hour, it would take you 10 minutes. It took me far longer than 10 minutes – it took me 2 hours and 15 minutes.
The weather here in San Antonio was pretty hot, humid and sunny on Monday. But since it was a holiday, and I had nothing better to do, I decided to run 10 miles.
I’d run 6.5 miles on Sunday, in an effort to get back into running. I’d stopped running so much because it’s been so hot recently, but the “cool spell” (i.e., 90 degrees) made me get off my ass and start running. And after running 6.5 miles, I figured 10 miles wouldn’t be much more.
But it is. It so is. By the last mile, my calves, thighs, ankles all hurt. My skin was chafing. I was noticeably red. I’d worn sunscreen but sweated it all off. I probably looked like I was about to pass out. But the great thing about running outside is that you have to keep going, or you’ll never get home. So keep going I did, even if it meant my running became sprints with long walks between.
Regardless of how I did it, I did it! When I signed up for the half-marathon, 13 miles sounded insurmountable. An Everest. An unattainable goal that would most certainly kill me. Now that I’ve made it through 10 miles, I’m pretty sure I can tackle 13.