After last Saturday’s great 14 mile run, I was looking forward to an easy 10 this morning. I started off really well, too. I headed out at 5:30 to run the Windsor Loop, which is probably my favorite route. The moon was still up, providing plenty of light, and while it was humid, it wasn’t hot. I felt really strong through the whole run, even on the hills. Life was good.
But then I got back to the Trail, and things went downhill. I grabbed a drink from the car and this gooey energy gel – it’s time for me to start experimenting with eating on my longer runs – and waited for running friends to show up. My plan was to hop in with the group for part of whatever their run was. But no one showed up.
So I trudged off by myself, muttering about how tired I am of running by myself in the dark on the Trail, choosing not to remember that it’s my own damn fault I’m by myself because I opted not to join any of the training groups in town. I had decided to do at least three more miles before calling it a day.
But after half a mile, the wheels just came off, and I fell apart, physically and mentally. My stomach cramped up enough that I was doubled over on the side of the Trail. That’s when I decided to turn around and head for the car.
It really shouldn’t surprise me that the run was a disaster. I had a terrible migraine last night, one that involved wicked visual distortions and throwing up, which meant I didn’t eat any dinner to speak of. I also slept terribly. I had actually turned off my alarm, but I woke up at 5:00 anyway, so I headed out for the run.
I know I could have slogged along and finished out the distance, but it just didn’t seem worth it this morning. Some days, knowing when to stop is a victory. I’m just glad this didn’t happen with one of my “long” runs. Next Saturday I’m scheduled to do 16 miles, and I have to get the wheels back on by then.