And not because I’ve got Daddy issues.
Here’s what I remember about my 9th grade English class: My teacher’s name was Ms. Bradley, with a heavy emphasis on the Mizzzzzzzzzzzz. It was 1984 and feminism was still something of an oddity, especially among 14-year olds. She was one of the toughest teachers I’d ever had, which means that I also learned a lot from her. We wrote so many essays that year, I was never afraid of writing again. I don’t remember all of the books we read, but I do remember reading (and watching the movie) Oedipus Rex. What I remember very specifically about that book was not necessarily the plot, but rather the concept of Greek heroes and how they frequently suffered from hubris (excessive pride or self-confidence), which inevitably led to their downfall.
I was thinking about that word a lot on yesterday’s “long” run, which I ended up cutting short and doing more than a fair amount of walking.
|Stalling the start of my run by taking a selfie in the window of my car.|
I should have known before I even started that it wasn’t going to be a great run, but damn if my pride would let me admit that I didn’t have a 20-miler in me. I mean, I have a race in just a few weeks and I gotta get in those miles, right? Can’t rearrange that training plan. Can’t re-think and re-assess when things aren’t working. Gotta power through.
Or, you know. Not.
I actually spent all of last week arguing with myself. On the plan, it was another build week. Of course, on the plan, last weekend was “just” a half marathon that I hadn’t intended to race as fast as I did. So Rational Brain knew that I should have been in recovery mode, but Hubris Head was all, “Run more, run harder!” As a result, my week was neither recovery nor build. Not slow enough to recuperate and not hard enough to make gains. Too many miles for cutback, too few to seem like a strong week.
Add to that a busy day on Saturday with traveling and fun (we did a little tour of CSU San Francisco and since we were in the City, we “had to” hunt down a ridiculously expensive t-shirt in the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood. Because why wouldn’t I drive around for an hour to go less than three miles?) but way too little water, and what do we have? A recipe for disaster, that’s what!
I’m going to say it again: I should have known. I have a long history of crapping out on runs when I’m dehydrated. I have a long history of psyching myself out, too. So chances were pretty good that yesterday was going to go south.
|To distract myself from the misery of walking, I snapped a few shadow selfies.|
But here’s the good news about me not being a Greek hero: the damage isn’t permanent. My ego is a little bruised, of course, but I will pick myself up and carry on with it. No need to hang myself or gouge my eyes out from the tragedy of a bad run. This week is the beginning of taper, and even though I didn’t quite hit peak mileage, I would always rather go into a race slightly undertrained (or, you know, completely undertrained) than over-stressed.