Anyway, this week I've given in to the rest my body has so desperately been craving. I'm getting increasingly concerned since my runs have not been up to my standards in both quality and quantity but I also know that trying to force junk miles in when I'm already tired never ends well.
Case in point, Monday...or maybe Tuesday...I was practically narcoleptic and felt pretty crummy all day. In spite of this I was determined to run because "I have a marathon damn it and marathoners push through everything!" Sometimes I'm a little dramatic.
Anyway, I did attempt a short nap between work and running both because I was tired and because it was hot and I was hoping the temperature would cool off (which it did not). It was less than an hour's sleep and I still woke up groggy, grumpy and possibly even more tired than I was to begin with. #napfail. I continued to ignore those obvious pleadings from my body to just stop moving and got dressed to run
So I ran.
I chose the opposite direction from the way I normally run this particular loop and hit a really nice climb I normally love because it's normally a really long downhill. Needless to say, it sucked. But I continued because I was mad at myself for being tired and being slow and all kinds of other ridiculous things that are completely absurd when you're not in that state of mind. I finished the first mile only 30-60 seconds faster than my normal pace and was pretty spent which made me even angrier at myself. I walked a quarter mile and then started running again (in time for the next hill of course). Since I was even angrier I decided I'd punish the hell out of myself and show my legs and body what tired "really" meant.
Do you see how terribly this story is progressing?
I decided to not only run faster but to get the same mile time as the first one despite that quarter mile walk. This mile luckily hit a long downhill but whoever said downhills were easier really lied. I absolutely hate speed. I hit the second mile at the exact same split at the first and promptly collapsed and died.
But I did stop and decide I was done running for the day. I also noticed my completely full water bottle which is never ever ever good but particularly not good when you've spent the prior few days hardly eating or drinking things other than alcohol.
I got to my car and fell into it before driving to the grocery store which worked out well since I was quite nauseous from my running brilliance. I got home and showered then sat on the couch to get some work done.
I didn't get any work done.
The nausea continued, I kept sweating for a bit, my legs were cramping and hurting, my breathing was labored and I hated everything. I managed to fall asleep at some point and woke up to The Colonel asking me what I wanted to eat. I forced down a pb & j and went to bed. I slept like a log but woke up still very tired which is a state I've remained in since then.
Moral of the story? Don't punish your body. That's stupid.