Last Saturday's goal was to run 20 miles. I woke up after only a rough 3 hours of sleep, hesitant to even attempt this particular run. Not wanting to disappoint my running pals and myself, I chugged a protein shake and headed out the door. It was clear to me before the first mile was even ran, that this was going to be one heck of a challenge. I was excited to enter into the '20's'. That was until fatigue set in around mile 13, after a couple miles of running (er, tripping) over gravel roads. It was at this point I was no longer excited for this adventure. I loathed it, hated it, despised it. I trudged on a bit more. Somewhere between mile 14 and 15 I hit that very real wall. I hung my head low and shamefully called my dear husband.
"Come get me" was all I needed to say. He loaded our three children in the truck and rushed to my rescue.
In order for him to find me, I needed to back track about a mile to an old country post office.
Holy cow, that beaten wooden bench adorning the front porch felt SO good on my butt!
As I waited for him to arrive ( hey, I'd ran to a whole other town!), I felt so embarrassed. How could I have failed? Why couldn't I have kept going? Was I ever going to be capable of running a marathon in just 2 months?
It was not until some food, a bath, (encouragement from my husband), and a nap that I realized this: I am human. I fell short of my daily goal. But, I will not give up on my ambitions and dreams. Come April, I will triumphantly cross that finish line.
What doesn't kill us makes us stronger.
You are amazing!
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