Running for It, Week 23: In which everything goes well and I unsurprisingly still complain

A couple of weeks ago, I hit the 14-mile mark, finally surpassing the distance I covered in the half-marathon. In that week’s blog post, I triumphantly declared that I had hit the halfway point in my marathon training. And I stood back and basked in the imagined glory that I imagined was justly mine to imagine.

Here’s the thing: apparently I do not know how to count, because that was week seven of an 18-week training regimen. For those of you playing at home, just so you know, seven is not halfway to 18. (I know some of my readers are from Arkansas, so I thought I’d better clarify.)

I just finished week 9, however, so now I can officially make my triumphal declaration that I am halfway there. Except that I’m not really in a mood to do so, for this reason: You mean to tell me that I’m only halfway done with marathon training?

Seriously, shouldn’t I be done with this stuff by now? All the sweat-soaked runs before work, rising at 5 a.m. on Saturdays for long runs, the obligatory blog posts that I have to write now because I promised I would despite the fact that I don’t really feel like it and nobody reads them anyway… enough, already! Can’t we just do this thing and get it over with?

A friend of mine told me the other day that I was probably ready for the marathon, that if you can run 13.1 miles, you can run 26.2. Is that even true? To be fair, I have heard that before, or at least something along those lines. I’ve done 15 miles, and that went pretty well. Could I do another 11ish without the training to get me there? Maybe, though I can’t imagine it would be pleasant. And I suppose I could take that line of thinking to its logical extreme: If the reasoning goes that if you can get halfway there, you can go the rest of the way… then clearly if I can run 6.55 miles, then I can run 13.1, then I can run 26.2. And if I can run 3.275 miles, then I can run 6.55, which means I can run 13.1 and therefore 26.2. And if I can run 1.6375 miles… well, you get the idea. Point is, I guess I better keep working.

All this to say, I’m starting to get a little tired of the training. It feels like it has gone on forever. Doesn’t it seem like I should be in Chicago by now? I wish I were. Training runs on the lakefront have got to be more enjoyable than these miserable slogs through the crippling heat of Kansas City. That said, this week did go pretty well. My four-seven-four midweek runs were almost fun, despite the sweat, and my 13.1-mile long run was almost–almost–approaching pleasant.

The best part of running a half-marathon on Saturday was noting that at the end of it, I felt pretty good. No excessive soreness and whatnot. My quads weren’t crying out for relief. Contrast that with my performance two months ago at Hospital Hill, after which I was basically wishing I was dead (which isn’t that big a deal, really, since I wish that several times a day). Anyway, it’s clear that I’m making progress. I’m a better runner than I was two months ago, and nine weeks from now, when I’m pushing along in a field of 44,999 other runners toward a finish line 26.2 miles distant, I’ll be an even better athlete than I am now.

Did you see that? I just referred to myself as an athlete, which sounds wicked awesome and may be the first time in history anyone has ever said such a thing about Price Horn. Of course, since I’m the one saying it, maybe I should not get the big head about it. After all, I’ve got nine more weeks to prove that I am a miserable failure.

(This is not, by the way, the first time in history that anyone has referred to me as a “miserable failure.” Nor will it be the last.)

One Response to “Running for It, Week 23: In which everything goes well and I unsurprisingly still complain”

  1. anne Says:

    You are an inspiration to me!

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