Whoa Paint

On a scale of 1-10 (10 being successful and 1 being a complete failure) I rate my effort and commitment to this morning's long run a 1.8.

I was to do 12 miles. 2 miles in, I finally talked myself out of the rest of the run and started walking home. The humidity was nasty, my left hammy was tight, my Garmin is turning into a POS, I ate like crap yesterday, blah blah blah. Insert Milli Vanilli here. Bottom line- I gave up.

I gave up on myself. I gave up on something I love to do- Run. I run for many reasons. I run because I can. Some mornings I find myself running from my house. So thankful to be away from the mess, the stress, the constant roller coaster of life as a mom. Halfway through the run my shoulders relax and I find myself racing back. Wanting to be there to pull Toby out of his crib, snuggling my nose into the crook of his neck while he holds on tight. Wanting to greet James as his feet land at the bottom of the stairs with a, "love you. Missed your face. Tell me about your dreams." as he shuffles from leg to leg.

On occasion, I find myself getting bored with running. What happened this morning is what I needed to happen, mentally. I beat myself up for the first 45 minutes after I walked in the backdoor-then I let it go. Because without failure there is no success.

Sure next Saturday's race will not be a PR- I'm ok with that. Because I was not made to always push myself to my limits all -the -time. Like being a parent- sometimes I push hard and then ease back and let them do their thing. Racing for me is like that too- it's knowing when to ease up on myself and not push to my limit that I'm working on.