My planned training for this morning was a walk.
I know. Walking is a cop out. As I write this, I am having a tough time using 'athletic powerhouse' and 'walk' in the same blog post, let alone sentence.
These days though, with my options limited through injury, I'll take walking above nothing. It at leasts gets me moving; gets the blood flowing. And I can always test myself out by punctuating my stroll with some short bursts of running.
Even with this in he back of my mind, when I got dressed, I chose clothing that wouldn't get my hopes up. My skins rather than the tri shorts I usually run in. I rugged up in a long sleeve running shirt, thinking I wouldn't warm up enough for anything cooler. I didn't take a water bottle or GU, which I never leave home without on a run.
When I went downstairs to put on my shoes, my first instinct was to wear one of my old, worn in pairs of running shoes. My latest running shoes, you see, are different.
My beautiful, black, badass Saucony Hurricanes. I love them. When I lace them up at the beginning of a long run, I feel invincible, untouchable. I truly feel like an Athletic Powerhouse.
I didn't feel like I deserved to wear them today. Not for a walk. These puppies are made for running, not walking.
In the end, I couldn't help myself. On went the badass shoes. What the hell. I was already wearing my Run Like Crazy singlet under my long sleeve. That wasn't made for walking either.
I set out on my walk, and felt pretty good. A bit bored, but good.
It only took 500m for me to want to try to run. I did. And it felt pretty good too.
I had planned to be out for 30 minutes. After 15 minutes, I was still running. I turned around and kept running. I got home, still running. My ribs didn't love every minute of it, but they didn't cry out too much either.
Seems like I'm not made for walking either.