We had some friends over Friday night…a great couple that we rarely get to see. Our dear friend recently lost his father, in the same manner that I lost mine many years ago, and so it was great to have dinner together and just laugh and talk…
and drink some wine.
As I had my third glass (it was a lovely Sauvignon Blanc), I told myself that it wouldn’t kill my 7-mile run in the morning, as long as I drank plenty of water and took the run slow.
I had another glass (it was a beautiful Cab Sav–who can blame me?), drank a lot more water, took two Advil and tucked in by 11:00 (we in the 40+ crowd really party hard, don’t we?). Before going to bed, I bailed on Erin, my running partner, who wisely wanted to run early to beat the heat. I think it’s more important that I sleep in, I said.
I woke up around 9 feeling just fine, made omelets and cleaned up the previous night’s mess, digested my breakfast and hit the door running at around 11:00 am. I don’t know if I have lingering delusions of grandeur from last spring’s marathon or if I am just ignorant, but I didn’t think 7 slow miles would be that bad. I even headed over to Loose Park, a very hilly park a few miles away, and tackled its big hill around Mile 4. I can do this, I said.
And by Mile 5.3, after taking 3-4 walk breaks (which I NEVER do), I quit.
The heat absolutely made me feel sick. I swore I caught a whiff of wine oozing from my pores. I tripped in a pothole crossing one street and landed right in the middle of my foot with the plantar fasciitis, triggering intense pain. I’ve been struggling with my PF since last weekend’s 5k, and I’ve had pain shooting up the outside of my calf, which usually means that I’m not walking right (stepping down wrong on my foot trying to avoid the painful spot, which affects my leg.) Once I landed in the pothole, the whole foot and ankle hurt.
Some über-fit chick with ginormous and improperly restrained tatas passed me at no more than a 9:00 pace. I got honked at. My legs felt like lead. I kept lifting my visor to wipe the river of sweat so my eyes wouldn’t burn, but then my hair started falling out of my ponytail and matted down on my forehead.
My songs sucked.
So I called it. 5.3 miles at an average 9:53 pace. Done. And if you know my personality, you might guess that I berated myself all the way home. But I didn’t.
Bad runs happen. I wasn’t happy, but I had a good sense of what had gone wrong. I am too old to drink 4 glasses of wine the night before and expect a good run in high heat and humidity, no matter how much sleep I get. Heat and humidity is a killer for me, and the decline is swift and brutal, like Miley Cyrus’s career, I hope. One missed goal will not torpedo my training plan. I need to be more forgiving of myself and treat my body a little better.
I am off for a 4-miler this morning, and I am going to love every minute of it. But first, I will make a quick Justin Timberlake playlist in honor of the man. I didn’t watch the VMAs last night because I knew they would be raunchy and not something the whole family could enjoy, but I did watch his performance this morning…
I have loved that guy since his first solo album. Here are the JT songs that I love to run to…
Here’s to a great week of running, for me and my readers, and a little more forgiveness for those less than perfect runs!