I made an executive decision late last night: no running until Saturday. In other words, I am on a self imposed hiatus from the run for the next three days. If you are keeping track that means a whole week without the run. Second huge decision is a change to the last scheduled accumulation run: drum roll please…there won’t be one. I was supposed to run another 20 this Saturday. I might do 19 if I’m up for it. Reality check: I’m tapering now. Officially.
In the grand scheme of things, if my schedule had gone as planned, this week would have been the final week of mileage accumulation – something to celebrate. I had it in my head I would mark the end of building mileage with something grandiose or decadent like a calorie laden drink from Starbucks. But, since I skipped the midweek runs it all seems anticlimactic now. Especially since I have skipped two runs already. The grand finale was last week and I missed it. It’s like waiting for your runner friend to cross the finish line but somehow she gets by you; finished hours ago. She’s at the bar, cocktail in hand, telling puke stories.
I have said this before and I’ll say it again. I am a lone runner. I train alone which means I don’t follow the grand plan of anyone else. I made my own way. But, now (and here comes the confessional) I’ve come to the part of my training where I feel a little floundering. It’s as if someone has spilled hot coffee on my secret master plan notebook; the ink on my road map has been blurred and the directions, completely illegible. I didn’t anticipate an injury I don’t know intimately; one I barely recognize (kinda like my mother listening for a worsening COPD and missing the heart attack completely). Suddenly I’ve lost my way and now I’m on guesswork. In truth, I don’t know how much downtime I really need in order to be okay. I just know that things are not right – not right now.
Tomorrow was supposed to be a ten miler. Instead, I will sit in a car for ten hours; sit in a church funeral for two; then slouch in a bar for a round or two or three or four. I’ll be in no shape to run anything except my mouth in pure misery. I still can’t believe I lost my friend. What’s worse I can’t believe I can’t run to cry. Or won’t. Fear of the unknown has its grip on me. Finally.
So. Here is my reality. I’ve burned the map and drawn a new plan, hopefully in indelible ink:
Saturday: Westfield, MA to Simsbury, CT
Halloween: lucky thirteen
November: 25 miles split between 14 days/5 runs.
November 15th: 26.2 angels willing. The end.