There and back again: a runner's tale

Like a moth to a flame, every Monday I shall flock back to Hopedale and repeatedly murder my muscles with a six-mile tempo run.

Ah, yes. Death By Running, eh?

I ran not with our coach today (he was going a TAD too fast ;-), but with a girl from a school in my team’s league.

We started off trying to keep up with Larry, but only succeeded in killing ourselves.

Inevitably, Larry ran on, and we struggled and stumbled far behind. Surely, we thought, we were going perhaps 10-minute pace, 9 at best.

My running buddy summed it up quite well by saying “I really can feel the burn.” I replied with (between gasping) “Yah. Can.”

Unfortunately, she had to stop after five miles (she’d never run for more than five before, so keeping up five at the pace we were going was quite incredible), and I continued on for the complete six.

Yes. If you have yet to figure this out, I am one of those psycho runners who, even if she is sporting a twisted ankle, will continue on with her five-mile run. (Yes. This did happen to me.)

For, if after the run it will hurt anyway, why not just keep going? It’s going to hurt much more (er, mentally) if one stops running, so why not at least keep going? It will not only give you that feeling of accomplishment, but give you that story to tell people that makes runners cheer and pat you on the back, while non-runners (cough) stare at you like you have ferrets dangling out of your ears.

So with the mindset that the agony would be over in about 8 minutes, I plugged on, falling through the finish line in 48:47 (8:13 pace) for the measured six-mile course.

Though even if it hurts during the run, it seems like the absolute funnest thing in the world after, and you just can’t wait to come back next week!

Ah, running, eh?