On Thursday morning, I went out for a run. Not unusual, but this time was different in two important respects:
- I couldn’t get out until 10am.
- It was hot as hell in Ottawa.
It was hot enough first thing in the morning, by 10 o’clock it was stupid-hot. I was sorely tempted not to go at all.
So why run? It would have made an excellent rest day. You might think it was that little runner’s high I got last week, that was pretty sweet. But that wasn’t it.
I ran because I was scared. Scared that if I stopped, I wouldn’t start again.
I’ve been working this weight loss gig for nearly 7 months, and running for about 7 weeks. Part of what has kept me going is a take-no-excuses attitude, and it seems to be working. The weight is coming off, at a slow, steady, healthy pace. And I’m really proud of the the times that I’ve gotten my run in in spite of hurdles. Rain, scheduling conflicts, fussy babies… those have been the best runs: the ones I really earned.
But I can’t shake this feeling that I’m balancing on a house of cards. The magic will just evaporate, I’ll be stuck on a plateau and won’t have the gumption to keep going. And the all-or-nothing attitude is something I really need to fix, because there will be plateaus. There will also be times when I just can’t run, when there are real reasons, not just excuses.
Well, yesterday I threw myself another hurdle: I took a break. And guess what? The world failed to disintigrate. I don’t know that I did myself any favours: my legs hurt more this morning than they have yet. But I got up, got two kids fed & into the stroller, and we went out for our run.