Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Three units of despair? A grossly inaccurate estimate, I discovered to my dismay, when I hit the pavement for the first time on Thursday. This was unrelated to the lack of a blog post, to be clear–that was a planned absence, actually, and I simply forgot to publish the standard “we’ll be back” message. I was seized by shame in the aftermath, you’ll be pleased to know–not enough shame, however, to dissuade me from abandoning you again next Tuesday.

My current capacity for running tops out at 1.2 miles, and I’m frankly amazed it’s even there. I remember crossing the half-mile mark during my inaugural jog and thinking, Holy shit, I’m ready to stop right now. I persisted, though, and finished my mile-plus, but not before thinking how the difficulty ramps up exponentially. That’s why three units of despair won’t cut it. It feels more like six units, and whereas I once placed value in how quickly I’d be able to finish the 5K, I’ve lowered the bar to just being able to complete the damn thing.

I could walk it, of course. It’s naught but a personal goal to make it to the end without stopping. Part of the challenge lies in the fact that the 100-up technique seems to require a lot more effort. It used to be so much easier to hurtle forward with minimal consideration for form, you know? Here, too, I’m choosing the harder path. Certainly there’s an element of self-inflicted duress here. But is that not the very definition of recreational running–a self-made crucible of suffering?