I’ve recently started running again, and it has been a lesson in patience. Because I have good memories of running as a kid (and as a teen), I feel like this should be easy. This should be fun. I should feel fast and light. And I don’t. Yet. My longest run so far was 3.75 miles and no matter how far I go, I seem to be running 13 minute miles. I remind myself of this image every time I get frustrated about the times (I should be running 10 minute miles, right?)
In the meantime, I am trying to focus on that yet. I will get there as long as I keep dragging my butt out of bed on the mornings and just keep putting one foot in front of the other.
My 13 minute mile is slowly getting closer to a 12 minute mile. And I am doing that while I am slowly adding a little length to my runs. And while I am doing it, I am feeling ok. Afterwards, I feel pretty good. I even have days where I feel good enough, that the idea of going for a second run pops into my head. Crazy? Sure, but I can’t help feeling like it is a sign that something is going right. As long as I keep it up, I will get better and stronger.
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