I wrote before about how I suddenly realized one day that I am turning a quarter of a century old, so I decided to run the marathon because I felt I had accomplished nothing else in life.
So I proceeded to attempt to accomplish, instead, something I absolutely disliked but would otherwise be absolutely good to do: running the longest race ever.
Fear now looked like great motivations, a radical move to strike a crisis-like panic of me dying alone, in misery.
For a month I ran 3-4 times a week, from barely making 1 mile to running 2.5 miles under 30 minutes.
Then out of no where, I hit a brick wall and stopped getting better. I couldn’t go on around Christmas. I would start feeling exhausted around the 1.5 mile mark and literarily had to drag myself across the 2.5 mile finish line. And it seemed as though things are not getting any better the more I run.
Some days the 2.5 miles felt manageable, other days I couldn’t finish without feeling lightheaded, so I didn’t.
And I stopped. It’s been 2 weeks, possibly 3, I haven’t run a single mile.
Runner’s fatigue is kicking my ass. Brick walls are suppose to keep others out, but not me. I might be suffering from iron deficiency, hence some anemic episodes on the treadmill.
Some days I wonder why I even try. But try again I will.
John Denver said it best, Some Days are Diamonds, Some Days are Stones.
So tomorrow, let me start running again.
On a related note, here’re a list of celebrities who have run the marathon and their finishing times. Jesus on a popsicle stick: George W. Bush ran under 4 hours. I guess that’s a motivation – I need to beat Bush.
