I got on the treadmill today, over a month since my last workout. I did 5km and gave up, more out of boredom than exhaustion. Running does not come naturally to me, and in my weak moments, I wonder why I ever wanted to attempt, in a respectable time, a 10km in the first place.
Today, I noted less than two months before race day in December and for a brief flicker, thought of just showing up and “winging it”. I’m fairly certain the adrenaline of the occasion mixed with the determination not to fail embarrassingly before thousands will be enough to propel me across the finish line; the question is how long it will take.
Then I gave myself a mental smack. Because “winging it” is not why I paid money that could just as well have been spent on clothes and shoes. Since packing up a good third of my wardrobe for charity last weekend I’ve been feeling rather forlorn in the clothing department. “Winging it” is not, should not ever be, my policy. Unless it comes to subjects like math, physics and history, the last of which I am ironically rather appreciating these days.
I signed up because I wanted to experience a foot race. Because I wanted to train with a goal in mind. Because I wanted to give my best in a physical endeavour and push myself as far – and fast – as I can bear to. I did not sign up to “wing it”. I signed up because I have always admired runners and I want to pretend, just for a morning, that I can be one of them. I did it because I was kind of hoping it would force me to develop some semblance of endurance.
Today, as I obediently, repeatedly, put one foot in front of the other and kept telling myself to focus on watching August Rush, I reminded myself of all the reasons why I am going to do this 10km run in December. And I reminded myself that I should never give less than my best. It was the first time I’d run with my new shoes and boy do I have a lot of work to do.
