Once in a while I don't lie.
Don't ask me if your butt looks big in those pants or anything, because I'm still the same shameful liar deep down, but when I promised to try to not die while running, I was telling the truth.
You see, last Saturday I was scheduled to do my first 10 mile training run and, conveniently (hate you Weather Man) it was also predicted to be in the mid 90s.
Yippee. Whippy. Whippy.
Now, hearkening back to the dark days of May, when I became suicidal and ran 9 miles in 95 degree weather thus giving myself a stunning case of heatstroke, I made the wise and uncharacteristic decision to get up early this Saturday...
*moment of silence for the significance of this decision*
...and run 10 miles in the early and presumed cooler hours of the morning rather than at 8am when the sun was up and looking for dewy flesh to scorch the shit out of.
And due to some miraculous occurrence, I walked out onto our front porch Saturday morning at 6am to find that it was 54 degrees and, GASP, foggy.
Oh, so that's why everyone runs early on the weekends. I see...
I had new squishy soft insoles in my shoes. I had an hour+ of new tunes on my iPod which was miraculously charged and functioning fully. I was wearing my freshly clean does-not-strangle-me-yet-provides-ample-support sportsbra. And - YES - it was cool outside.
I didn't even have to put my sunglasses on because it was, like, a little bit dark still.
If there were a better morning to get cracking on my 10 mile training run, this had to be it.
And then paranoia set in. I was pretty sure that all this perfect juju meant I was going to meet a horrible fate. Because, obviously, I'm being lured out into the wee hours of Saturday to witness or be involved in the worst event to befall human history.
Right? I mean, that is my luck after all isn't it? It's not just that I can be really pessimistic when I want to go back to bed or anything, no.
Anyway, in surprise twist of luck - nothing awful happened. I did not get bitten by a dog. My iPod didn't spontaneously combust. I wasn't even almost hit by any cars, which, in my life is mostly unheard of. I also managed to do it at about 10.5 minute/mile pace and my knees didn't immediately snap and cry out in pain, which was probably the most significant point of it all.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm really glad I finally ran the 10 miler because it was haunting me that I hadn't done it yet and I am becoming aware of the fast approaching race date and I also I was afraid I'd die or at least publicly shame myself and we all know how much I hate that.
So - RELIEF.
I ran the 10 miler. It wasn't horrible. Nothing awful happened. And to reward myself, I'm going to try to not imagine getting squooshed under the recycling truck as he backs out of Starbucks without checking his mirrors.