Ouch

I ran 11 miles today and every inch of me hurts.  Even the hair on my head.  Didn't know that was even possible.  I must have even looked awful, because when I got back to my car, a couple who were getting their bikes ready to go on the trail asked me if I was ok.  "I'm great," I said.  And then had to sort of back into my vehicle, because my left leg wouldn't really work and I couldn't get in any other way.  Not cute at all.

When I signed up to run the Army 10-miler, I thought it would be great motivation to get back into shape.  But it has been WAY harder than I imagined it would be.  This 40-year old body does not respond like my 28-year old body did.  I thought that maybe this would even inspire me to eventually run a marathon.  That is so not happening.  Ever.

Jake and Maggie had to run a mile at school yesterday, and Jake was complaining about how much he hurt yesterday.  I told him I was going to run 11 miles today, and his response was, "But, Mom, I sprinted the entire mile." Sadly, when he told me his time, I realized that even if I only ran 1 mile, I still wouldn't beat him.

I get very hot very fast when I run, so I wear shorts.  And I have learned not to look down, because even though I can run 11 miles, there are still wobbly parts on my legs and it irritates me to no end.  I haven't really lost any weight (maybe a few pounds) which also irritates me to no end.  (Maybe I should stop drinking non-diet pop...that might help.  Or eating entire jars of salsa in one sitting.  Or at least eat it without the chips - which would sort of be like drinking it, I guess.  That might help, too.  Or eating most of the shortbread cookies that Grandma sent home with Jake and Maggie last night.  Thanks for that, Mom!!)

Anyway, I wish I could say this whole experience has inspired me to run for the rest of my life, to eat healthy everyday and to just be satisfied with whatever I weigh, as long as I feel good.  But I can't say that.  All it has inspired is a longing for October 21st to come and go so I can quit feeling guilty about not running as far as I want to, or as fast as I wish I could, or eating only things that are good for me. 

I do think the race will be fun, because the atmosphere at races always is.  And I know I will finish.  I just hope that Scott doesn't have to carry me to the vehicle on his back when it's over.  And I hope I don't puke.  That's never fun.