Mediocrity

I had a goal of running 11 miles today for my long run. Despite a call from work in the middle of the night that cut an hour off, I got a good night's sleep. Better than usual anyway. I had a Valentine's date with my son, and we had a blast hitting the beach ball in the living room, seeing how many times we could volley (14 was our high). One glass of wine, and I was in bed at midnight.

Up at 8:30 or so, I tooled around the house, got a couple things done, had my required cup of coffee and some oatmeal, and was ready to go. My daughter was home to watch Ray, so no worries there. But I was tired, not really feeling up to running. Everything else in line, that couldn't be my excuse not to go. So, I went.

Four and half miles in and I started feeling a familiar twitch in my right hamstring. Dang that thing, I can't completely get rid of it. Oh well, keep going. There's a bathroom, timing's about right, better use it. Leave the bathroom, and I've gotten cold. I'm all the sudden not feeling very good. I'm five miles in; I better turn around. I was on the trail, so it was basically a flat out and back. Holy shit, the wind is now in my face, and I am really feeling bad. Keep going, there's no other choice.

Ok, so I continue on in misery and at nine miles I officially bonk. For the first time ever (well, for me that's only the last three years) and I had to quit during a run. I started walking with a mile left, cold and hurting bad. What the hell happened? I started thinking about what being mediocre meant, because as far as running, that's how I view myself. Nothing outstanding, far from great... mediocre. But today was terrible!