I got out there last night. It was seven o’clock. It was dark, cold, the wind was blowing and it had started to rain. I hadn’t started making supper yet. All sorts of good reasons to skip Friday’s run. And, as usual (it seems), I was exhausted. Thursday night’s hill training had me so revved up, I couldn’t sleep. I was getting water and looking for my Kindle at one in the morning, slept on the couch so that my restlessness wouldn’t disturb anyone, and was up again shortly after five. Friday was going to be slow and the four o’clock slump was going to hit hard. And it did.
But I needed new shoes. The puppy had eaten the insole of one of my Flyknits and the Saucony insoles I used instead were causing discomfort (read: possible shin splints). So off I went to the Waterfront to quickly get new shoes and get out on the road.
Life doesn’t work that way around here, though. As I pulled into the parking lot, I realized that The Kid had my bank card. So back out I went, back through the slow, wintry traffic, all the way home to retrieve my card. Then back to the Waterfront, this time in somewhat thicker traffic.
But my Nike Flyknits 3.0 were on sale – and they had them in my size! Score! I more than made up for the saving by throwing in a pair of full length leggings, a long sleeved top, a sports bra and some socks. Thus fully kitted out and significantly poorer, I went via Pick & Pay to pick up some food to cook for supper and headed home.
I rushed in, established that the dogs had been walked by the Significant Other and set The Kid to work in the kitchen, peeling potatoes, grating carrots and slicing leeks. I got into my new kit and headed out into the rain, questioning my logic: how did I decide on 100 days of running at the beginning of winter? That means I’ve committed to running in the cold, dark and wet for pretty much the full 100 days. And it’s going to get worse each week!
But I did it. Just a little run. a tiny run. Only 4 km. I have decided that a run must be at least 3 km to qualify as a run. My legs were stiff and sore from Thursday’s hill training, and my foot smarted a bit from where I had dropped the garden shears, pointy side down, from a good height, so getting started was a bit creaky. And it was wet! The under-the- bridge people had settled in for the night, taking refuge against the walls, wrapped in hooded plastic macs and tattered blankets. They must have thought me crazy. I had the option of a nice, warm, dry house, a warm meal – even wine – and here I was, disturbing their rest.
I was soaked when I got back. My new leggings were wet, my new shoes were wet … But no matter. The four o’clock slump was long forgotten. The ‘I think I’m getting sick’ feeling had passed, and I was ‘What shin splints?’ and more like ‘How’s the cooking getting on, what movie are we watching and where’s my wine?!’
Things are a bit stiff and sore this morning, all my clothes are wet and there’s more rain coming.
May as well get used to it.