Ten miles!
This morning, in Central Park, after 3 hours sleep (my horrid nocturnal schedule… that didn’t even involve going out!) and great nerves and anxiety, I achieved double digits.
I did it! I think. Most likely. Because the GPS on my app crapped out again, I estimated my pace, which is usually pretty steady, to calculate my miles. And luckily my dying iPhone survived that 1 hour 42 minutes because otherwise I’d have been circling under the Columbus Circle CNN building’s clock. Crying. Probably crying.
This was by far the toughest test of my training, and, practically, my life. The hills in the fabulously pedestrian-friendly and shady! (almost to a fault, I was a bit cold in my thin tank near the end) park are gentle but tough. I started out holding a small bottle of water but as I could barely stomach its contents after chugging a glass of water at home this morning before Subwaying it north, and its weight taunted my already sore arms (from yoga; clearly my upper body has been on vacation these months), I chucked it during the early miles.
Around mile 8, I felt nauseous, dizzy, out of breath and hope and I did something I’d normally endlessly chastise myself for: I slowed to a power walk for close to a minute. It was enough to center myself again, and though the quick ramp back into a run was painful, I don’t know if my body could have held out without that small favor. So I forgave myself. Quickly.
The changes in inclination, sun/shade and hydration (as I neared the end) made this morning a huge challenge. It was so, so tough. Maybe I am, too. Or learning.
