I ran six miles yesterday. Six freaking miles. It was not fun, it was not easy, it was hard. It was really, really hard.
My 5.8 mph pace was slow but comfortable. I’ve learned that once I hit around 6.0 mph my groin begins to tinge with pain. I usually run a 5:1 run/walk ratio, but decided to challenge myself a bit since I was running on the treadmill. The first three miles were a struggle. My body was by no means challenged (a good thing) but I was wary of my groin giving out too early if I ran too fast. (It started to hurt with 1.5 miles to go anyway.) “You’re almost halfway there. You’re almost halfway there…” I told myself.
The fourth mile was the easiest. Mile five wasn’t too bad either.
Mile six? I was running on fumes. My left groin muscle tinged with fatigue and pain. I was so physically and mentally exhausted that, a day later, I’m still not even proud of myself. I’m walking like a geriatric toddler– yeah think about that.
This Saturday? Add a mile on to that. I’m supposed to log 7 miles. This is where the women are separated from the girls.