"Fueled by work stress, self-loathing, the need for redemption, and too much chocolate"

So, there I was on the 22nd of December. I'd eaten way too much food during the previous 24 hours, and not a lot of it was healthy -- as it happens, my office + holidays = sugar, fat, and strife, seriously, I think I received three or four boxes of chocolate, plus a really nice bottle of champagne. I was also under a fair amount of stress. We had a major push to the end of the year (we have a shut-down from Christmas until January 3), which translated to longer days. Monday and Wednesday both saw me exceed 10 hour work days and Tuesday would have been the same, if not for previously scheduled personal time. This particular Wednesday was even worse than the previous days because meetings ate nearly four hours of my work day. Furthermore, my pride was also a bit burned after Monday's run. I have my hunches as to why I had so much difficulty. Rather, I have scapegoats, but ultimately, I think that the weight of this unsatisfying should fall on my shoulders. I have nobody but myself to blame.

I needed to redeem myself. I needed sweet validation, a reminder that I am, in fact, worthy of being called a runner.

When I've previously felt this way, I would set out on a long, long run, typically breaching double digits in mileage. I'd knock out these big distances that scared me a little bit, then finish happily with a sense of accomplishment and feeling like a total bad-ass. The great thing about longer runs, besides the sense of accomplishment and hours of internal dialogue and music-listening, is that I tend to pace myself much better. I keep the distance in mind and it's good motivation to avoid overexertion. How else would I survive 10 or 11 miles? So, I tend to get a little bit too excited when I do "shorter" distances. We runners forget that, to most people, 10 kilometers is a lot. But, to us, it eventually becomes a relief: "Oh, today's only a 6 miler? Sweet! I can knock this out in less than an hour!"

So, fueled by work stress, self-loathing, the need for redemption, and too much chocolate, I put a sign on my cubicle for anyone searching for me ("Kristen's patience checked out a while ago. She has gone running to find it, she'll be back by 5:30pm"), threw on my running shoes, some shorts, and a long-sleeve tech shirt, set my phone's Pandora station to Jay-Z Radio, and set off for a 10K around Lake Union. I chose to approach this run differently than Monday's, running clockwise instead of counterclockwise. One major benefit of this approach is that I avoid starting my run on an incline. Another is that I get a decline while crossing the University Bridge, which seems way too long the other way.

It was a nice night. I started my run around 4:45pm, just after the sun had set and there was still a hint of light in the sky. The Christmas light tree on top of the space needle was already lit, as were the lights on the Queen Anne radio tower (two of my favorite Seattle Christmas traditions), and the purply light from the sky reflected off of the unusually smooth water on Lake Union. It was peaceful and lovely, but a fire had developed inside of me earlier in the day and it was burning a little too hot. I couldn't find my smooth, I kept pushing past it into a harried, angry stride that was uncharacteristic of me. I wasn't happy, I wasn't relieved, and I couldn't shake everything that was waiting for me at work. Furthermore, I was having trouble separating my personal rhythm from that of the percussive music bumping through my headphones. It was always just a beat or two faster than my stride, which I inadvertently adjusted to keep up.

Despite my mental unrest, I hit my halfway point just over 22 minutes. I'd blown 8-minute-miles out of the water, which was cool excepting the fact that I was beginning to feel drained, and I still had three miles to go.

One thing about running -- it teaches you to be tenacious. Your body screams at you, "GIVE UP, REST, AND GIVE ME A FREAKING BREAK, YOU PSYCHO!" And eventually, you hit a point where your brain yells back, "KEEP CRYING, NOOB! WE'RE GONNA KILL THIS AND YOU'LL THANK ME LATER!" It's a stretch to say that I killed it. I finished my 10k in 50 minutes, having taken a break after running the stairs up to the University Bridge to stretch and catch my breath. My brain and my legs argued for the entirety of those last three miles, and my legs could not make up their mind. They'd try to cramp and give up on me, and 10 minutes later, they'd be taking on a stride that the rest of me couldn't maintain. It was frustrating, and I found myself wondering what happened to my smooth. Yes, I finished, but where was my mental relief that normally comes with a run? Where was the happy, wonderful endorphin high? Where was my sense of accomplishment? I'd proven that I could run a quick 10k (compared to myself in previous years), but I still didn't achieve any validation or redemption.

A couple hours later, while I was still at work (pushing hour 10 that day), I came to a few conclusions:
1) I need to learn to let go of my aggravators, no matter what they are. I've said it before, and I'll repeat it here: my best runs are my happy runs. The ones where I get lost in the good memories and good music.
2) On the music note (pun intended), as much fun as it is to listen to hip-hop, I don't think it's the best choice for running. It's too aggressive, too angry, and too distracting. It keeps me from my smooth, my zone.
3) I need to make a more concerted effort to pace myself. It helps a lot when I run with other people because I can find that spot where my heart rate is up, but I can still maintain a good conversation.
4) Chocolate is better consumed after a run.


Yes, I've had a couple of frustrating runs, but it's not the end of the world. This happens, right? It's part of any relationship - you go through the good and the bad, and this is a time of growing pains. I'm learning to manage expectations, accept my weaknesses, and learn from my failures.

Onward.