Going the distance

After my unfortunate Tango with the flu, I slowly made my way through the weeks like maple syrup. But today I decided: 'Enough is enough,' and I should be able to run sixteen kilometer/ten miles to Westendorp again.

I pulled on my ugly running tights and the new running shirt I bought on eBay. It's a lovely blue running shirt, but the seller had neglected to mention the big, ugly spider web on the back. So I added a windjacket to hide my spider.

Then I put on my shoes, pulling the laces really tight, only to pull them loose again as I remembered the advice of my Chi Running instructor: 'Shoes should be loose around your feet, like slippers!'

After that, there was nothing left for me to do, but to go outside. 'Just take it easy, the important thing is to cover the distance,' I told myself. I started the tedious process of positioning myself just right, but halfway through I got distracted because my husband was looking through the window laughing his head off. So I took off in a very nón-chi way.

I stumbled through the street slowly, because you don't start driving your car in fourth gear, do you?! I made my way through the empty playground and onto the bike path. Hm, it didn't feel too good, and the left side of my brain started whispering: 'You could just go home, you know...' So I shut that up by playing Brad Paisley's 'Behind the clouds the sun is shining'. Sulkily the left side of my brain stopped its careless whispers.

You can't run the same distance every week without developing personal markers. I know exactly where I should be after ten minutes of running, and twenty, and thirty etc. However, this time I didn't make any of them. Never a fast runner, I seemed to be setting a new personal record in going slow. 'It's okay, it's okay, as long as you keep running!' I told myself, trying to make myself feel better.

After fiftyfive minutes of torturous running I arrived in Westendorp and helped the local economy by buying a nice cup of coffee and a mineral water, in their one and only pancake house. As usual I rescued the tired looking ice cubes and put them in the plastic floral arrangement behind me. I take personal credit for its vibrant looks!

Then I sighed with pleasure and leaned back in my chair. Nothing tells me it's Sunday like sitting in this pancake house, sipping my coffee.

But after fifteen minutes I started to get restless: after all, I still had to get home. 'You could just call your hubby to come and get you,' the left side of my brain piped up. So I gagged him and left him at the pancake house. He really is sooo annoying!

Slowly I made my way back, trying to pick up speed. I succeeded but then I felt so exhausted I had to walk the last twenty minutes. As I was walking home a 'real' runner ran by, clad only in a small white tank top en shorts, but sporting a really big watch. Shamefaced I ran to the next tree, trying to look like a real runner too.

When I got home I stumbled inside and fell on the couch. 'It was awful!' I moaned to my hubby. 'It went really badly.'

Hubby looked at the clock, that told me, that my sixteen kilometers + having a cup of coffee had taken me two hours and fifteen minutes. 'But you're back so fast!' he declared.

I looked at him gratefully and forgave him his laughter. 'And I went the distance!' I added.
And that's what it's all about: going the distance.
And the next time it will be easier, because it can't get any harder!