I am re-reading Christopher McDougall's Born To Run in the hopes that it will give me some inspiration in the weeks to come.  Reading about the Tarahumara and the Leadville 100 (especially the Leadville 100)  and the sheer will it takes to run a 100 mile marathon through the mountains is certainly inspirational, but not in the sense that it inspires me to run 100 miles. It's just nice to know that someone is doing it for the rest of us. 3.5 miles is still enough for me, thanks very much.

I ran a sub 12 minute mile today.  It may not sound like much, but it is a minute off of Mondays time and a full 2 minutes off my first day.  I feel like that is something to appreciate.  I even gave a tiny fist pump when Runtastic told me my pace was 11:25.  Small victories my friends, small victories.  I also woke up to very sore knee and once again questioned wether or not to skip this mornings loop.  I figured it couldn't hurt to walk to the park and walk the loop if need be.

I like walking to the park. I see people running to get there, but I like the 10 minutes of brisk walking because it allows me to wake up, stretch my legs out and get my mind ready for the thirty five minutes of discomfort which I am about to face.  Once I arrived my knees seemed to have warmed up and, though there was a little tightness, I went ahead and ran.

There is a lot to balance when running three miles (even at my sloth-like pace).  I often feel like I can pick up the pace and when I try my easy breathing suddenly becomes a choke hold. Its a very fine line between running "comfortably" and standing in a bush retching. I find I have to listen to my breath, my legs, my feet and most importantly my ego.  My ego is a motherfucker.  EVERY time someone passes me I hate myself a little bit.  I remind myself that i'm just beginning, speed will come, etc... and then some dick in a Stanford sweatshirt bounces by and I want to stop, walk out of the park and pound some fries.

But I didn't.  I don't. I remind myself that I should try to enjoy this.  Even at my pace.

Maybe that was today's lesson.  I am not running like the Tarahumara, or that Stanford dick, but I am running.  Keep running.  Keep running.






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