We had a *slightly* breezy weekend. Sustained winds of, oh, 20mph or more.
I went for an 8.5-mile long run on Saturday, determined to run and confident that I could run through the wind. I wouldn’t let a little breeze stop me…
I didn’t take any fuel with me. I told myself that this would be about mental training and proving my toughness. In hindsight, I was lazy.
The first four miles or so were uneventful. I reminded myself, frequently, to slow down – since I had no fuel, I knew I couldn’t overdo it on my pace. The weather was beautiful, and I ran (mostly) comfortably. I was running into the wind, but I frequently reminded myself that it would be easier going back.
The next two miles were harder. Even with the wind at my back, I was beginning to feel the effects of the run. I silently cheered for myself (“You’re doing great! Keep pushing! Strong!”) and pushed through my body’s desire to rest.
The sixth mile was when it really hit me. It was HARD. I was running up the last significant hill, and my legs were screaming. For lack of a better description, my mind was shutting down. I could only manage to put together short, cliche sentences to (silently) cheer myself on (like “keep running”, “you can do it”, etc.). It took everything in me to force myself to keep moving.
I hit mile 7 at the top of the hill, and that was it. I’d pushed, pushed, pushed, but now I could push no more. It was almost like a flip had switched in my head. I was pushing, I was hanging on, and all of a sudden I was done. I sat on a low retaining wall for a few minutes to catch my breath.
I resumed my run, but the last mile and a half was BRUTAL. My legs were heavy, and my body just fought me every step of the way!
It wasn’t until after I got home and cleaned up that I realized what I’d experienced – a bonk, hitting the wall, one of my most severe bonks ever.
The exhaustion clung to me for the remainder of the afternoon. I was able to finish some errands, but I had to push myself. I was very relieved when I finally fell into bed!
Unfortunately, a long night’s sleep was not meant to be. I woke up to the sound of thunderstorms around 2am, tossed and turned for a few more hours, and got out of bed at 6am Sunday morning. I dragged myself through the day on Sunday, and by Sunday evening I knew that I was fighting a cold virus on top of my spring allergies. It was a hard, hard day.
Here’s hoping that the remainder of the week is stronger!