Ungrateful Gratefulness

Yesterday I ran a 10k. Last week, I thought it would be easy, because I know that I can run 6.2 miles in one go. For some reason, though, I struggle with the 5-6 mile distance. Isn't that funny? If it's a 5k, I know I can just push through those three miles. And if it's a longer distance, I know to ease back and not push until I get closer to the end, but I never know what to do with the 10k distance. Do I push through or ease off until mile four and then push? Race adrenaline got to me and I went pretty quickly for the first four miles, despite it being much hillier than I'm used to. Still, despite going along at a pretty good pace (for me), I couldn't shake the self-doubt and the feeling of, well, not wanting to be there. I didn't want to do it. I wanted to go home. I wanted to go home before the run even started, and I'm not sure why. It was a long week and I didn't sleep well for several nights in a row, and I just couldn't get my groove yesterday. I was worried about making it home from the race in time to shower before our first Thanksgiving dinner of the day. I felt guilty because Shane was home cooking and getting the boys ready while I was out running. There are always going to be bad runs; it's just frustrating when that bad run happens on a race day. When I learned my pace at mile four, I panicked that I was going to burn out and be too tired to finish. And then my panic turned into me convincing myself that I couldn't do it. It was miserable. I just couldn't push through and ended up having to throw in quite a few walk breaks over the last two miles. It's frustrating, because I know that I don't NEED to walk, yet I couldn't do it. I finished in 1:03, which isn't awful... but I know that if I wouldn't have struggled toward the end, my time would've been better. My time should've been better, but my body just wasn't feeling it yesterday.

My whininess aside, if I'd been in a better mindset, it would've been an awesome run. The scenery was beautiful and aside from the wind, it was good running weather. There were post-race donuts (which I didn't have time for, sadly). I saw relatives and people I went to college with and co-workers.

At the halfway mark, I was thinking, "I am dumb. Why didn't I sign up for the 5k? What is WRONG with me?" And then we ran past a home for adults with mental disabilities and three people were out in the driveway, cheering and clapping as we ran by. One man was in a full body wheelchair and I just thought, "Really? I'm complaining about my CHOICE to run, mentally beating myself up, while he would probably give anything to feel his feet hit the pavement." I wish I could say that I stopped hating the run at that point, but I didn't. I hated it until my feet crossed the finish line and then I hated it for a little while afterward, until I begrudgingly put on my race shirt and went to gorge myself on stuffing and rolls.

What I got out of it, though, is that a bad run is still a good run. It's a good run because I am able to run. Period.

And as I counted my blessings yesterday, I added that to the list. Along with friends, family, pie, and yoga pants, I'm thankful for the perspective to look outside myself, to see a little bit of good in bad--to realize just how lucky I am.