Anticipation
After two days of cross-training, I felt great for the first nine miles of my long run Thursday. The course was relatively flat and very beautiful (can't beat those Pacific Ocean views), it was overcast with just occassional spits of refreshing rain. It was so nice, that I decided I could make this 12-miler a 15-miler.
Then I made the turn for home on this out-and-back course and noticed the dark mist coming from the clouds just offshore. This wasn't a spit of rain coming in, this was a soaker and I had no chance of making it home before it hit.
I think my worst moments in life are those spent in anticipation of the worst moments in life to occur. ... It's knowing I've just done something really stupid and/or thoughtless and how it's going to hurt my wife. It's knowing I've got to face my boss after doing something she specifically told me not to do. It's being at the bottom of Hurricane Point, looking up at that climb. It's getting into the final stretch of the Big Sur Marathon and hitting the first of the rolling hills of Carmel Highlands, the hills that signify the end of the race, and hopefully not the end of me.
And this was one of those moments. I didn't look forward to being wet and cold or having rain whipped in my face. At the same time, it was now out of my control. I could either run the remaining distance home or walk it. Either way I was going to catch the brunt of the weather. I resolved to be cheerful about it, and as it began poring and the wind kicked up in my face, I laughed (not the "this is the best you got?!" kind of laugh, but the "I'm a bloody idiot" type laugh). That lasted about a mile, unfortunately, I still had four to go. For three of those miles, I ran head down, shoulder into the pelting rain, like Shaun Alexander pounding into the line of scrimmage in a short-yardage situation. Did I tell you this run finishes off with a tough climb? I didn't anticipate it being a problem, because the stretch before it was flat and I could conserve energy for it. But after being pounded by the rain my energy was, well, all washed away. The climb was a slow, miserable ordeal. But I made it. I was wiped out the rest of the day, and felt lousy the next (very grumpy, just ask the kids).
This is one of the hard parts of getting out the door, anticipating the pain, dreading some particular stretch. All those negative images come flooding in when I'm lacing up the shoes each day.
Instead I try to think of those times running through the forest, when all I can hear is the crunching of the pine needles beneath my feet and the steady rhythm of my breathing. It's those times that all things seem possible (including finishing the Big Sur Marathon and not having it finish me), when the anticipation is uplifting.
Then I made the turn for home on this out-and-back course and noticed the dark mist coming from the clouds just offshore. This wasn't a spit of rain coming in, this was a soaker and I had no chance of making it home before it hit.
I think my worst moments in life are those spent in anticipation of the worst moments in life to occur. ... It's knowing I've just done something really stupid and/or thoughtless and how it's going to hurt my wife. It's knowing I've got to face my boss after doing something she specifically told me not to do. It's being at the bottom of Hurricane Point, looking up at that climb. It's getting into the final stretch of the Big Sur Marathon and hitting the first of the rolling hills of Carmel Highlands, the hills that signify the end of the race, and hopefully not the end of me.
And this was one of those moments. I didn't look forward to being wet and cold or having rain whipped in my face. At the same time, it was now out of my control. I could either run the remaining distance home or walk it. Either way I was going to catch the brunt of the weather. I resolved to be cheerful about it, and as it began poring and the wind kicked up in my face, I laughed (not the "this is the best you got?!" kind of laugh, but the "I'm a bloody idiot" type laugh). That lasted about a mile, unfortunately, I still had four to go. For three of those miles, I ran head down, shoulder into the pelting rain, like Shaun Alexander pounding into the line of scrimmage in a short-yardage situation. Did I tell you this run finishes off with a tough climb? I didn't anticipate it being a problem, because the stretch before it was flat and I could conserve energy for it. But after being pounded by the rain my energy was, well, all washed away. The climb was a slow, miserable ordeal. But I made it. I was wiped out the rest of the day, and felt lousy the next (very grumpy, just ask the kids).
This is one of the hard parts of getting out the door, anticipating the pain, dreading some particular stretch. All those negative images come flooding in when I'm lacing up the shoes each day.
Instead I try to think of those times running through the forest, when all I can hear is the crunching of the pine needles beneath my feet and the steady rhythm of my breathing. It's those times that all things seem possible (including finishing the Big Sur Marathon and not having it finish me), when the anticipation is uplifting.
posted by dave kellogg at 9:16 AM
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