This is not a post about running. Not exactly.
But it starts there, so bear with me.
The hardest point in my runs (read: slow slog) these days is between mile 2.5 and 3. After the newness of the run has worn off and before I’m in any kind of comfortable (read: muscle numbing) rhythm. Way before the end is in sight. And let’s not even talk about the possibility of the “runner’s high”. That’s a cruel myth perpetuated by sadistic marathoners to make the rest of us feel like failures.
This is the point that is the most uncomfortable. When I most want to stop. When the voices taunting “This is STUPID!” are the loudest.
Instead of “I-think-I-can-I-think-I-can” on repeat in my brain it’s “I’m-gonna-die-I’m-gonna-die”.
