I was supposed to run 16 miles on Saturday.
"Supposed to" are the key words here.
First, I let my girls and husband (!) talk me into going to a homeschool dance that I didn't really want to go to. Oh, I wanted to theoretically, the day before, but after a crazy Friday, I really would've preferred to stay home.
Then, on Saturday morning, I let the husband twist my arm into staying home instead of heading to Santa Monica at 5:30 a.m. I was dreading the run more than a little because I've been really bad about getting out there.
That has actually been one of my concerns, knowing myself, with formalizing my running -- joining a running club and signing up for a marathon.
I tend to resist "shoulds." Oh, I'm a good girl in many, many ways. So I guess I rebel in little ones. Like, the worst thing in the world for me to do is to join a book club. I read quickly, but as soon as I have a deadline for finishing a book, there are about a million other things I'd rather do (or books I rather read) instead.
Running has been a little bit the same way. And, unless I want to have a disaster or skip out on the marathon, I need to take it more seriously. Or, more accurately, I need to have more fun again. I dread getting out to the running club. I will do it because I need the help on the long runs, but I need to make sure I have fun runs during the week. We're talking my definition of fun, of course, which means running alone and unmeasured.
So, today, I went out and just did a little over an hour. I didn't measure my mileage. I saw my buddy the security guard, and Paul came out to help as well.
I also need to add some new music, as I've been running to almost exactly the same thing for a while now. I'm thinking of adding Eminem, Gossip, Franz Ferdinand and early Rod Stewart.