My first 10 mile run

(This is from March of 2007, but since I'm starting to run again I think it's important to remember my first long run. Photos from www.giftedrunner.com)

Well, I had my absolute worst run ever. I mean, worse then the very first time I ran, with the totally opposite kind of shoe then I needed, after 37 very fine years of sitting on my butt and refusing to break a sweat for anything that did not involve food at the end, (although running DOES involve food at the end, which is why I decided to start. It fell into my strict parameters of acceptable behavior. In fact, it involves EXTRA food, so it's okay by me.)



But this...this was bad. Bad in the way poison ivy over 40% of your body is bad. Bad in the same way watching the chef walk out of the restroom without washing his hands--after finishing your meal--is bad. I ran out of water before mile 6, and lost all energy midpoint at mile 8. I started bad, and then, with great determination and digging deep down into the bottom of whatever will I have, got steadily worse.

I've been doing about a 12 minute mile. My best was 11:15, I've had some shorter runs (3 miles, give or take) at a steady 11:40 pace, and my 9-miler I did a fabulous (for me) 12:21 pace. I am not a zippy fast runner, by any stretch.



But today...well, you decide:

12:37
13:27
13:22
13:04
13:25
13:49--ran out of water, couldn't take a GU.
14:36
14:49
16:22
16:58
I actually walked the last mile and half. Well, if by "walk" one means limping along, cussing inventively under my breath, and cataloging all the bits of me that hurt--many of which, may I take this opportunity to say, I had no idea I even had. Oh, and shivering in the sudden wind.

I actually didn't want to count it as my very first double-digit run. For one thing, it wasn't a 10 mile run. It was an 7 mile run, a one mile hop, and a 2 mile crawl. (I wonder if it's a sort of triathlon?) I was considering logging it as a 7 or 8 miler, and happily repressing the memory of those last 2 miles.

My husband, however, pointed out that I actually did cross the finish line, metaphorically speaking. Well, and literally speaking. And he pointed out that, at a race, crawling across the finish line counts. But it feels vaguely like cheating. Like winning the Daytona 500 under a caution flag. Like winning the World Series because of a referee error. Like crawling across a finish line...

I suppose I should take heart in that I didn't--as my body was crying out for me to do--just lay down on the path and quietly expire, or at least take a short nap.

Well, I did do 10 miles. My first double digit. I hated almost every step, and several times thought that stopping would be an excellent idea, but couldn't, because my car was still 3 miles away (yet another reason to do an out-and-back, because after the halfway point, you really have no choice. No choice at all.)

So, yes, I logged it as 10, with an average pace of 14:15. I walk faster then that, but hey, it's done. Now I will work on forgetting the last half, and remembering only the first few miles, when I was almost enjoying myself.

I suppose that all runners either have had a Very Bad run, or will have a Very Bad run. I've had mine. In a way, this, too, was a Rite of Passage, and allows my entry into that circle of runners... "Oh, you think THAT'S a bad run? Well, let me tell you about the time I was running with iron boots on, uphill the whole way...it was the MC Escher half marathon, and we figured we could finish before the hurricane really hit..."

Another milestone (pardon the pun) completed...


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