I wanted to get my 8 mile run in very early this morning because a) I had things to do today (like get called "unsportsmanlike" at a baseball game for booing the home team); and b) it was going to be another 80+ degree day, but with the added pleasure of humidity accompanying the temperature.
While I tried to get out as early as possible I didn't click "start" on my Garmin 305 until 6:48 am, when it was already pushing 70 degrees and the sun was rising over the trees. I set off on a moderately hilly route that featured about a mile-long gradual incline a mile and a half or so in and then another steeper but shorter incline at about 5 miles.
By the time I got past steeper but shorter I was already spent, beat down and smacked around by the heat. And this was after only 5.5 miles or so, a distance I should be able to run backwards and upside down. Today I wanted to quit at 6 miles, 6.25 miles, 6.5 miles, 6.7 miles, 6.85 miles, 7 miles, 7.1 miles, 7.2 miles and 7.25 miles. By the time I got to 7.25 I figured I might as well stick it out and suffer until I got to 8. I did it, and in fact made it to 8.02 miles, but it wasn't easy. Or fun, refreshing, rewarding, or satisfying.
What it was was completed. And that's all that matters, I guess. But man, am I not looking forward to those 15 mile training runs in August in preparation for my fall marathon. Yeesh, what was I thinking by registering for another marathon? I'm far more masochistic than I think I am.