We've gotten to the point in training where every morning I'm asking myself, why am I doing this?
The clock glares at me in the still darkness. 4:XX. I mean, whyyy. It is so early! So quiet.
I'm. So. Tired.
My alarm blares. I slap it quiet (after having snoozed since 3:30) and then quite literally roll to my right and slide out of bed. Pad over to the bathroom, wash my face with cold water, insert my contacts, scrape hair in a ponytail, and wriggle on my sports bra. Note that I have slept in shorts and a tshirt to lessen the dark morning struggles.
Silently make my way downstairs, fill up my water bottle, and slip into the garage. I sit on the edge of the treadmill to tie my shoes while my show pulls up in the computer (Hulu and Netflix are life saving), and then stretch for a few before slowly churning the treadmill to life.
The next mile or so passes in a blur of sleepy legs and flailing arms. I settle into a groove about 1.5 miles into my warmup and then speed up just enough so that I'm moving at a pace faster than speed walking but definitely not my usual brisk outdoor pace. My treadmill miles are equally mental as they are physical, and as I train for my 6th half marathon, I realize the bulk of my running and training have always been done on my beloved beast of a treadmill. I lovehate this thing.
All my dawdling has meant I am running late (srsly no pun intended for once) and so race (ha?) to finish, and then power off, stretch for a few minutes (maybe this is a lie?) and then run upstairs to shower and get ready for the day.
Later in the evening as the clock nears 9pm, I'll collapse into bed, and ask myself once again,
why am I doing this?
I'll set my alarm for 3:30am, and it's lights out.
4x1 tempo. .25 cd. Ttl 6 miles
5+ miles, hills
10 miles with Jennifer
Miles: 25 (approx)