Runners often say that you never know what the day will bring when talking with friends before an upcoming race, and we tell ourselves that, maybe as a defense mechanism so that we aren't disappointed with the outcome. We can't control the weather, and we don't know how our bodies will feel or perform on any given day.
Today for speed work I was listening to Mumford and Sons, and as I finished my two-mile warm up, I was pleased that "Little Lion Man" began to play with its 180 beats per minute. While counting my footfalls I favored one foot, got frustrated, and quit counting. I was sluggish and my legs felt heavy; I did not like what the day was giving me. On this glorious day at the beach I clocked a 7:40 pace. During my three minute walk and jog before the next interval, I began making excuses: the full sun; lack of sleep for two nights; and Syrah with dinner and a sidecar cocktail the previous night.
I started the next three quarters of a mile wondering what it would bring. I was relieved to find my expected pace of 7:15. Next, my half mile was on target as I found myself entering the picturesque harbor. I took copious pictures and lingered during my break. After feeling good about my progress, I wanted to be finished and stay to absorb the ambiance, the sights and sounds. What would another quarter mile do for me anyway? I made myself finish the session, but I didn't pay attention to my pace except to notice that I had slowed. I didn't care. A family was embarking on a kayak excursion on the marsh side of the harbor. Oh, yes, my family wants to do that, I thought. It snapped me out of my self-absorption and had me longing to get back to them. Almost home, I remembered the cool down and turned back to add the last half mile. I ran to the island chapel, a fitting destination to finish the run as I was thankful for what the run gave me today.
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