Too much is not enough

I've been plugging away at the training program lately, fitting in runs every-which-way. Friday afternoon I decided to try a go-round the neighborhood where I work, enticed by flat land and wide sidewalks. I mapped out 11 miles and giddily set out into 60 degrees and sunshine.

I'd run more than half of the route before as a six-mile loop, but I added a couple of less-familiar areas. As it turns out, I ran out of sidewalk pretty quickly after five miles. Normally I'd forge ahead, ever the reckless adventurer, but rush hour on a busy road meant I'd have to fight for space the whole way. Not for pedestrians. I know when I'm beat. I turned around and threw in a few short blocks to try to make it to magic number 11, but by then the concrete sidewalks had taken their toll and my shins were screaming. Asphalt is so much kinder, I'm realizing.

It wasn't ideal, but I finished the last couple of miles on Sunday, tacking them onto another run.

Today I had the sort of day that demanded I run well, because nothing else was going right. After work, on the way to the gym, my thoughts were my enemy. I almost scratched the 7 miles, 3 fast, but I couldn't think of an excuse that would allow me to live with myself. I slogged through the slow miles and burned up tread on the fast ones. The last fast quarter, when I realized I was going to make it, I felt a sense of power and control that I wish I could bottle and sell. For the cool-down mile I cranked up my music and zoned out to U2's "Numb."

It was perfect.