I think I am slowing down. This is the time when I kick myself for not being a runner in high school or even earlier that that. Why didn’t the bug bite me when I was in fourth grade? Second grade? Back when I was being bit by little boys. I could have escaped. In more ways than one. I think of the mental anguish I went through in high school (the same angst we all go through at that awkward age) and marvel at how saner I would have been had I just embraced the run. Back then it was torture to take a lap. It was easier to fake it than flaunt the need for speed. I had friends who convinced me it wasn’t cool to sweat; wasn’t cool to enjoy sports, especially the ones we weren’t good at (which was all of them, for me). It was worse to exert any energy on something called Exercise. Everyone around me convinced me it was better to scoff than to score. No. I take that back. I did have one friend who kicked azz on the field. We weren’t as close as we are now, but imgine where I would be if I had followed her lead back then!
Last night I visited the tread again. My strategy has been from the start to start out of the gate at little faster each run. The theory is the end product will be a longer run. Somewhat. It barely worked this time. 2.91 miles in 30 minutes. 0.02 faster than the last time I saw the Gerbil Cage. Nothing to write home about. I think I have met my match with this pace. I think I need to hold steady at 10.3. Does it make me sad? A little. I think it’s time to move onto 35 minutes. Maybe my calling is to be a really slow runner who is out there just to enjoy herself.