Eleven mile run completed today. Whoop.
During the run, I made the 5.5 mile turnaround, and saw a dad and son running towards me. I seem to remember seeing them last week. The remarkable thing about these two guys: they were both very heavy, big dudes. The dad was pushing 350, and the son, probably hovering in the high 200s. They were shuffling, just like me (heavy, big gal).
“Good morning,” I shouted as they approached. The dad and son smiled, and as we passed each other the dad said, “What are you training for?”
I turned and screamed, “A Half-Iron! What about you?”
He craned his neck back towards me, and shouted, “A marathon, with my boy here! December!”
And just like that, we had shuffled past each other, going our own ways.
Once again, I found myself a big fat sissy. Crying and running.
Two things about that little exchange brought me to tears. Oh, I’m such a cry baby. After I passed them, I welled up and then made ugly, scrunchy cry face.
The father/son pair were big people, and I am no stranger to big people. And they were out there together making it happen, shuffling along, just like I was doing. To see people vocalizing their crazy dreams is wonderful, and affirming. People who are big, and dream big.
The second remarkable thing: when I shouted back to them that I was training for a Half-Iron. I have said that a few times out loud. But to literally scream it across a trail, to strangers, felt amazing. “HALF-IRON!”
Those two things made me cry like a big fat sissy. Again. I’m okay with that.
So yes, today’s run was another milestone. Longest I have ever traveled on foot! Took me about 2:22:00…. slower than my 10 miles
(what? is a 12:50 pace slow? ha!).
Was back out at Silver Comet early this morning, at approximately dark thirty, to knock it out. The Expert had his run today too, so I had to get back early to relieve him from kid duty.
I started off really feeling good. The morning was quiet, and hot, but beautiful.
The first seven miles were fabulous. But really, I think the trick – I was able to go to another place while I was running – I hear that’s part of the big deal – to be able to go to a place and stay there, without thinking about the physical motion, the pain, the heat. I wasn’t floating above my body in a runner’s coma
either, like last week, this was different.
My heartrate stayed in high Zone 2, maybe a few Zone 3 moments. To me, that signifies so much growth. I used to hit the treadmill and shoot up to 165; now, I can run 11 miles at 142. That in itself is amazing.
Also, the mental growth. I passed my 7.2 mile marker and said to myself, “Whew, only 3.8 miles to go.” I can’t ever remember thinking of “only 3.8 miles to go” as being a reasonable, good thing.
It’s the small victories that I try to remember. Oh, and after the 11 miles, I went to Lifetime Fitness and threw down a 1.5 mile swim. Mind you, I am not bragging. I am notating. Notating the fact that when this journey started, I could not run a mile without stopping, nor could I swim 25 meters without a sense of drowning. And that was less than a year ago.
Growth is an amazing thing.
Coach Monster called me after the run and the swim, and he said, “Hey, am I speaking to the woman who just ran 11 miles?”
Oh yeah, “Speaking!” I said.
Then he said, “I remember when we started this gig, you said, ‘I can’t run 3 miles
.’ Well, Missy, look at you now.”
Growth is an amazing thing.
And it’s the truth. I may still be fat, but I am a fat girl who can run 11 miles. And with shockingly bright shoes (I clicked my heels together, and I was in Oz). Boo yow.