I did not want to run this morning.
Never were those words more true than they were at 0535 (ok…so it was closer to 0600) than they were this morning. I didn’t want to get up. I didn’t want to go outside. I certainly did not want to run. But we went.
We were only a couple hundred feet from my apartment when the Significant Other turned to me and said, “Do you want to go back to bed?”
I was so tempted. Oh, how I was tempted.
But then I thought about it. I thought about how we were already dressed and outside. I thought about how I would feel once we were finished – when the endorphins were rushing through my system and I was red faced and sweaty but feeling the satisfaction of completing a good run.
And so we went running. And it hurt. And I wanted to stop at one point, but we pressed on. And I knew the Significant Other was pushing us — and I groaned inside when we saw another runner ahead of us and I just KNEW that we were going to have to pass him. But we ran. And you know what? We finished 2.25 miles at an 8:30 pace. And that?
Is not so bad.