Yesterday I thought I would push myself and try to run 18 miles. 17 is the furthest I have run. It was cold out - 30 degrees - and pretty windy. But when I left the house I felt really good and the sun was shining brightly. I had on gloves and a running jacket.
I turned into the wind at mile 6 and by mile 8 my hands were really cold. The blood was all moved to my core - which was perfectly warm - but the feet and hands, not so much. At 12 miles the winds had really increased and my hands were just freezing. I passed my house at mile 17.3 and just surrendered :((
After a hot shower and some food I was really mad at myself. I mean, what was .70 more miles? Geez, I could have done that! I had having a goal and not meeting it!! Still it was my furthest distance. And it's funny how things are relative, isn't it? We bought our treadmill in November 2010. Exactly 3 years ago. Because you can program the tready with your vitals, I can also remember how much I weighed - 289 pounds. I remember trying to run for 2 minutes straight - at a 15 minute mile - and thinking I was going to DIE.
And yet here I am - 3 years later - pissed at myself for "only" running 17.30 miles at a pace of 8:35 per minute mile.
I think that this perfectionism, or demandingness, or crazy-itis is both a blessing and a curse. This drive is probably what led me - when I'd finally had enough - to lose weight and get fit. BUT the pressure - as you all have seen - can be almost unbearable at times.
18 miles will come, right? And today I will be thankful that - despite years of abusing my body - I have done no extreme permanent damage and I am still able to engage in physically demanding activities!