I think my last running update was at eight miles when I'd just been bitten by a dog and had broken two iPods in twenty minutes.
It was quite a day.
Perhaps the trauma from that day kept me from making an update at the nine mile mark, but I'll tell you now that it was as I expected it to be; harder than eight miles, but not devastatingly so, and still full of the same crabby people who know neither how to bid a good morning nor drive a car without sideswiping pedestrians.
Beyond that, I have now crested the Double Digit Mile Run hurdle and can attest to the fact that extra miles always mean extra chances to dodge traffic.
I ran 10 miles on Saturday and did not die. Although I did have a stern finger pointing session with a man and wife (they were both holding the wheel. Yes.) in a minivan who had apparently either never been taught the significance of a crosswalk or were blind to my neon green top and bright orange visor (I try to be very visible when I run. For obvious reasons.)
The original plan with this running "program" of mine, was that I would only increase my mileage on my long runs and only once a month at that. Example: June's long runs were seven miles, July's were eight, August was to be nine and September was 10. Race (ie 13.2 miles) in October.
Well, here's the thing - fear. Fear of not being able to go beyond the 10 mile mark due to disbelief (and sweatless exhaustion) on race day.
I mean, how could I possibly run 11 miles, or 13.2 for that matter, having never actually done it? I need to train! I need to PREPARE! I need to reconsider my decision to commit to running a half marathon because whatwasIthinking!?
In short, I need to either see or do something in order to believe that it can be done. And having never seen myself run more than 10 miles, I am pretty sure that at mile 11, I would stop believing that I could really do it and just melt into a shameful pile right there on the course. So, even though stupid other runners keep talking of this great *inspiration* that comes from racing alongside other sweaty breathless runners that, somehow, grants them endless strength from which they can draw in the final unrehearsed moments of a race, I still need to run at least 12 miles before the race itself to believe that I can actually do it.
My reasoning here is that I *have* seen myself add a mile to an established distance and then not die, so adding one mile to my 12 mile course on race day shouldn't be too much of a stretch. Sure, I probably won't cruise into the finish line looking like I just wandered free of a day spa, but I probably also won't be on a stretcher or openly weeping.
One can hope.
So, this weekend I'll run 10 again and then for the first two weeks of September I'll run 11. Which ought to be interesting since I'll be on vacation and we all know that formal exercise on vacation is a myth and no one does it and I'm not even bringing my running shoes to Hawaii because that would mean I'd have to leave home a pair of flip-flops which is so not happening.
It is possible that I may be running my 12er the first week of October but DO NOT TELL because there is the Taper which I should probably consider.
Whatever. I ran 10 miles last Saturday, and while it would be great to say that it was a "10" reminiscent of Bo's glory as she emerged from the waves glistening in her fit perfection and bizarre-even-for-the-seventies white girl braids, it was a "10" probably more like the Swamp Thing emerging from the lagoon covered in crap and making alarming guttural noises.
I am so a child of the 80's.