19.1 miles is how far I have run since Friday. 19.1 miles that were not mine. 19.1 miles where I was not concerned about my time, but rather that my running partner was getting all that they could out of the run.
On Friday, I was joined by my partner-in-crime, Dizzle. We ran one mile together. One mile without anyone else tagging along (and slowing us down). I let Dizzle set the pace and she whined about it the ENTIRE time. From the first few steps in, she complained that she had to pee. That she couldn't hold it for one second more. But she did. And the two of us finished that mile in 12:24. 1:18 faster than she had ever covered the distance before.
On Saturday, J and I headed out for the last long run of my training cycle - 12 miles. His parents watched the girls and we got some much deserved alone time. I picked the route and he picked the pace. At mile 11, his hip hurt too much to run. So, we walked. I told him to be proactive in treating it and to think about his form when he runs. At mile 11.4, we started running again. J thought about his form. And for the first time ever, he pulled away from me. His stride was just too long to keep up with. And as we finished, he was running an 8:18 with me two steps behind. Apparently, J has been hiding some serious speed in his legs. That half marathon PR at Richmond is so his.
Then on Sunday, G ran her second 20 miler of this training cycle. I had a few miles left for the week, so I joined her at mile 14.5. She had gone out too fast on a rather hilly route. Probably more mentally tired than physically, I got to be her cheerleader for the last six miles. When she wanted to stop, I told her she couldn't - she needed to drive me back to my car. When she started to beat herself up, I told her she was wrong and tried to crack a joke. I was there for her, like she has been there for me.
This weekend I ran to support others. Next weekend, I run for me. Five days and nine miles is all that stands between me and the start line ...