Three miles is fine with me

The other day, Ben and I were on a run in suffocating humidity and I was giving myself a pep talk.

Now stop and take a moment because that's the whole point of this post. A milestone post. I gave myself a pep talk and I didn't have to coax myself into such a positive moment - I went there on my own.

See, I have a troubled relationship with running. I remember the summer my dad said I had to run a mile every day if I wanted to stay ready for sports. A mile felt like forever. I have a steep barrier in my mind when it comes to running.

Ben has run a few marathons and generally enjoys the pursuit so when we started dating, it was a way he wanted to spend our time. At that point, I felt so far behind him it didn't seem worth it to try to keep up. I biked along on his long runs and muddled through the short ones the best I could. But the man wanted to chat. Chat! While I was panting! 

I noticed I had an attitude quickly. More than weakness - ruthlessness. My mood synced with my body and if I felt good, I felt good. But if I felt bad... Typically the attitude is pointed at Ben. He got me into this mess. He runs too fast. Too far. Too often. Too hot. 

And he cuts me off when we turn a corner.

After awhile, I increased my mileage possibilities (10 mile race!) but without pressure, I stay in the low ranges. I thought running 10 miles would unlock this secret passion for spending hours out and about but it hasn't. 

The effort it had taken to run an easy three miles humbles me. I mean, I'm a fit individual. I've seen acquaintances and friends pound mile after mile and I'm holding steady at three. I don't think I'm complaining. I just thought I'd see more progress over two years. 

So imagine us out in this unseasonably warm May evening that feels inhuman. It had to be 78 degrees and 80 percent humidity. Heavy stuff. And I feel pretty terrible already because I have a propensity for tight calves / Achilles and I never drink enough water. It was a quiet run for us aside from the occasional "Are you still alive?" 

So we're about halfway through our run and I'm thinking to myself, You know you can stop. You know you can walk and he can keep going and it's not a big deal. Maybe just take a break a stretch. I'm my own best friend - I'm trying to give myself a break. But then I thought about how great it would feel to not stop. I started pointing out (to myself) that my calves had kinda relaxed and it was just the heat that was getting to me. And Ben was keeping a manageable pace, so why stop now? Besides, I'd it's really the heat, stopping just means a slower way home.

And it hit me as I ran my last hill that I finally FINALLY kept running for the joy of it rather than the victory. It was out of love instead of defiance. (I am a highly competitive perfectionist people pleasing person.)

So after two years of low mileage and not meeting my goals, I've met a goal. I've become a happy runner. I run for myself even when I don't really want to run. I can talk myself out of my own funk. And I didn't even get mad at my running partner.

Progress takes many forms.