It seemed like a great idea at the time. 12 weeks to train for a half marathon, beat the winter blues, and get "in shape". The only shape I'm in today is pathetic. I must admit that I seemed to have faired better than Wally who is currently a moaning lump in a chair bundled up in a blanket. (I can say these things because I know I can outrun...outlimp him today!)
It was all Wally's idea. I told my running buddies and somehow convinced them to join in the madness. At first it was actually fun, running together on Saturdays, adding mileage each week. The week we did 10 miles I felt GREAT! I felt so confident I even considered training for a full marathon. Reality hit me the week we did 12 miles. 12.3 to be exact. I fell apart and chalked it up to just a bad run. But today was d-day. Once again, I felt great at 10 miles and at 12 miles I fell apart. The last 1.1 miles was the toughest 1.1 miles I have ever run. It was cold and windy and uphill. That is correct--we live in Texas and it was cold (16 with the wind chill) and uphill. The last 0.1 mile was up a steep hill (how rude to put the finish line uphill!) and I really wanted to walk (actually what I really wanted was to stop!) but somehow I managed a slow trot to the end. Everyone says that adrenaline will carry you through to the end but they lie. What carries you through to the end is the desire to make the pain cease. We survived. It wasn't pretty, but we survived! 2 hours 12 minutes for me, 2 hours 13 minutes for Wally.
