Running update, or lack therof

As the drama of my continuing foot issues evolve, I'm struck by how little I hate running.

Yes, I said hate.

Prior to this whole "training for an actual race" scenario I was quoted as saying, "Finny doesn't run" quite frequently and with much enthusiasm. I didn't like running. I did it, however, because it was an alternative to hitting the gym everyday, got me outside and required that I interact with very few spandex wrapped middle-aged men. I didn't enjoy it and I'm sure that it wasn't enriching the lives of others so much as I huffed and gagged my way through the neighborhood.

That was until I broke through the three mile mark, however.

Now, had I known that trotting beyond the magic three mile mark would result in such a dramatic change in attitude/ability/hacking I would have done it way sooner. But how was I to know that just beyond the threshold of my torturous three mile sessions was another world of running altogether?

I admit, this attitude adjustment may also have something to do with the fact that I now actively engage in the practice known as pacing, but I like the idea that magic exists and that it can change something from utterly painful to mildly pleasant. Just like that. (Magic: If you're listening, please heal my blisters right now.)

That's the crux though. Now that I've discovered this magical threshold I am not able to cross it because of the ever multiplying blisters on my feet.

ANGST.

In order to soothe my newly burning (and ultimately ironic) desire to pound pavement I went back to the running store to exchange the Blister Monsters for a less arch-y alternative. I managed to leave with a new pair of spaghetti loving, hopefully unblisterlicious shoes, three pairs of anti-blister socks and the biggest stick of BodyGlide (thank you TinkerBlue!) they had in stock.

Admittedly, anything in the store that touted it's anti-blisterness was fair game. With silver dollar sized scorches on the bottoms of both my feet, it was going to take very little to talk me into any proprietary blister cure.

Now I sit, BodyGlide between by tender feets and evil heels, dreaming almost wistfully about the day when I can hit the road again.

I barely recognize myself.

At this point, my biggest fear is that when my blisters finally heal I won't, suddenly, be able to get through even my shortest runs. That the magic will somehow be reversed and I'll be back to the sad wheezing mess I was before The 3 Mile Revelation. That will mean a lot of not nice words and maybe even some crying. Let's hope it doesn't come to that. For now, positive thinking.

Magic: DID YOU HEAR THAT? Positive thinking!