If you been around here for a while, you know that I hate getting up early to workout. I much prefer my 9:30 a.m. runs. Or evening runs. Pre-P90X, I often had a sunset date with my treadmill. But over the past two months, I have made a real effort to wake up before sunrise to get my mid-week miles in (at least a few days a week). It hasn't been easy, but I have had friends who were willing to share in my misery.
On Mondays, I meet up with KT for 3-4 miles at 6:15 a.m. and on Tuesdays or Wednesdays, G (and whoever else we can trick into meeting us) run 8 miles at a time that starts with a 5 (otherwise known as WAY.TO.EARLY). This is our group from Tuesday. G and A (in the middle) are training for the same November race right now, and, well, M and I are not ...
And, although I DREAD getting out of bed, I have actually grown to like these runs. It's nice to feel so accomplished at a time that most people are still snuggling in bed. With all that positivity in my head, I attempted something I never have this morning. I set out for a SOLO early morning run. (See? Me, pre-run with no friends)
8 miles as the sun was rising. Just me and my Garmin. And let me tell you. It was TOUGH.
It was hard to get out of bed. It was hard to lift my feet. It was hard to motivate myself to go. I had to will myself to keep moving the entire time. My pace was slower than usual. I couldn't find my groove. Maybe it was because I am kind of freaked out about running alone when no one else is up. Maybe it was because I was constantly looking over my shoulder to make sure I was alone. Maybe it was because my children have been so mentally draining the past few days. Maybe it was because I didn't eat breakfast before I left. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
I'm not really sure what was up. I just kept telling myself that I would be happy that I kept going. That I was training myself for the tougher runs that lie ahead. That I would be proud that I stuck it out when I wanted to quit. And I was.