Holy Crap. HOLY CRAP. You are not going to believe how far I ran today. I ran 10 freakin’ miles. I spent at least half of a mile debating whether or not running 10 miles was enough to warrant the use of the real f-word instead of “freakin'” – but I decided it wasn’t.
10 freakin’ miles.
The couple times I’ve uttered the phrase, “I ran 10 miles,” since this morning, I have actually felt a surge of tears coming on. I think the pride I feel for myself is so strong that just vocalizing such an accomplishment, one I would have never dreamed possible, makes me want to cry. I mean, TEN FREAKIN MILES.
It took me 2 hours and 5 minutes, but I would like to blame those extra 5 minutes on having to run in place at various intersections. I started doing my long runs on Sundays because there are fewer cars out, but by 9am (I left at 7am) the church traffic was getting pretty heavy – so I spent a few minutes waiting for the traffic to clear.
(Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I have no problem with the waiting.)
I chose Starbucks as my destination and celebrated with a small pumpkin spice latte (skinny, no whip) AND a pumpkin spice doughnut. They were both fantastic.
Now – all of that said? OH MY GOD I AM SO DAMN SORE. I am not usually too sore after my long runs since I run so slow, but I guess 10 miles crosses me over into the No Matter How Slow You Go – You’ll Still Hurt Like Hell territory.
I ran for ten miles. I ran for two hours. Man – those words sound awesome.