Idiot

Last night I ran 9 miles. 9.1 miles, to be exact. I can't remember the last time I ran that far, but suffice it to say it's been quite a while. In fact, the farthest I've run in months is 5.5 miles, so this was really just a test to see if I could do it without feeling like death warmed over. So I expected the run to be very hard. I expected to hate every moment of it. I expected it to hurt so much that my thick head would have to admit that there is really no way, even if I did a lot of walking, that I should do the half marathon on Sunday.

I expected to only do 7-8 miles in the first place, but I felt so good that I did more than 9. And now I'm pretty sure that I'm just an idiot in more ways than I can count. Because the run was nice. I ran three minutes and walked 1 minute, repeated indefinitely, until I finished the 9.1 miles. I'd taken two Advil before I started as a preemptive effort at warding off the inevitable soreness, and in the end it didn't hurt at all, and when I finished my legs felt tired but not painful. Even today, I'm just a little sore. I was more sore over the weekend from swimming last Friday than I am from running yesterday. I even averaged around an 11:30 mile, which is just insanity for not having run any distance in such a long time.

Before I went running, I even cancelled my hotel reservation at the Hilton for Saturday night, because I assumed that the run would go so badly that I'd finally make the decision to forego the race.

But now of course I'm sitting here thinking that I can do it. Because Jason and Debbie are both running and they haven't trained much either. So I'll ride down with them, and then I'll just run/walk the whole way. Somehow I ended up in the first wave, but I can always start at the back, or even wait and start at the back of the second wave, so I don't get in anyone's way during my walk breaks. I might not set a new half marathon personal worst after all.

Yep, I'm pretty much a complete idiot.