I’ve got two little blisters on the tips of my next-to-biggest toes today, and I’m pretty proud of them, since I earned them yesterday on a personal milestone run: The Five-Miler.
My youngest brother convinced me that for this year’s Hall of Fame Race, we should run the 5-mile. (In turn, he’s got someone trying to convince him to run a marathon this fall. He’s trying to rope me into that one, too, but first things first.) Realizing this goes against a few of my own personal reasons for sticking with the 2-mile – having a time to try and beat every year, for
instance, and the knowledge that when I hit that misery wall on race day I’m only about 5 minutes from the finish line – I’ve decided to give it a shot anyway.
It was sunny and about 40 degrees yesterday just before noon, and I figured I’d run a roughly four-miles-and-change loop through a nearby housing development, around one of the local park tracks twice, and then back again. My only goal was to see if I could do it without stopping to walk, and I wasn’t paying attention to time at all. The longest I’d ever done at a stretch was three miles, and it’s been at least three years since then, but I figured if I paced myself at the start, I should be able to do this.
And I did. Sure, it took me about 55 minutes, which would’ve put me waaaaaay down in last year’s standings, but for a first try, I’ll take it. Heck, until I did two miles last weekend, it had been five and a half months since I’d run at all. I even had the wind to take some nice long strides up our street for the finish. And since I wasn’t doing the hard charge the last half-mile, I didn’t have the whole lungs-burning thing going on when I reached our driveway.
When I checked the route on Google Maps yesterday afternoon, it came out to five miles exactly, and that’s kind of cool.
I was a little stiff and sore last night, but knowing I can do this? That feels great.
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