10

Lately, I’ve been getting nervous before my long runs. I know I’m physically capable of running up to 13 miles (welp, when training that is), but mentally and emotionally I just don’t feel like I can ice that cake.

I’m not sure exactly what the road block is. Will I have a bad run? Been there, done that. Will I have to stop early, or walk for a bit? I’m alright with that. Will this be the run my legs finally rebel after a heavy year of running, snap off and gallop into the forest? Ok, I might be in trouble in that case.

Last weekend I ran a nervous six, so this weekend I challenged myself to eight. I could hardly sleep Friday night I was so anxious, but Saturday morning I laced up and knocked it out—eight miles, plus another two. You know, just to make sure that damn cake got done. With sprinkles on top.

It was my longest run since half-marathon training last spring. I’m not training for anything right now, so my goal is just to keep at it and keep happy.

Even with this weekend’s run under my belt, I’m nervous about the next one. But I’m ok with that. A little bit of nerves keeps me a humble runner. It makes me eager to get out there, but aware—and in awe—of my body’s plans.

What’s the plan for next weekend? I don’t know, but bring on the frosting.

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