Almost did not run today. Woke very tired and very stuffy this morning. Took a two hour nap. Then I debated over expending the energy on a run vs. fighting this cold. The run won. I really, really wanted to run on the road after yesterday's rain to see how the gravel felt in comparison to a dry road.
I loved the mud!
I wore my mocs down my .2 mile driveway and took them off at the mailbox. Remembering the pain from my first 4 mile run and how I was lamenting the long road home and wishing for a phone . . . . I shoved the mocs into my vest pockets. Ran the first mile on gravel. The rocks just munched right into the mud under my feet! I loved it! I ran my first mile in ten minutes. That's when I reached the asphalt. A mile of asphalt. Up and down and up and down and up and down with very short stretches of level in some places and no level toward the end of the mile. I should mention that I favor the painted yellow stripes down the middle, they feel so smooth! Made it to the highway and turned around. From that high point I can see the whole two miles of undulating road between the highway and my driveway. And I can see the elevation losses and gains between them as well! It amazes me that my feet can carry me so far and it amazes me that I live in such a beautiful area. My feet were feeling great. When the vicious dog at Summit started spewing his profanities I didn't even feel sorry for myself! I was gracious enoughto wish him a better day. And I kept running. And when I reached the gravel I kept running. 3 miles in barefooted bliss and still going. This is where I gimped out last week. My feet were so sore from the first gravel mile and the rough asphalt that I could not bear any of the roughness of the gravel road on my return home.
I did not whine! I ran! I noticed that in a few places the big, knobby truck tires of the neighbors had not only cleared the troublesome rocks by lodging theminto their treads, but they left such wonderful tread patterns in the mud that felt like massages to my now-feeling-tenderized feet! I only hit a few painful rocks with the pad of my right foot. By the time I reached my last quarter mile I did feel like I was limping a bit on the right but I felt so triumphant overall that I kept going. At my mailbox, VICTORY, I ran 4 miles without whining or hobbling! I felt so triumphant that I walked and trotted even up the dreaded .2 mile driveway without putting the mocs back onto my feet.
A good day; a good run. Progress in my battle with the gravel.
I loved the mud!
I wore my mocs down my .2 mile driveway and took them off at the mailbox. Remembering the pain from my first 4 mile run and how I was lamenting the long road home and wishing for a phone . . . . I shoved the mocs into my vest pockets. Ran the first mile on gravel. The rocks just munched right into the mud under my feet! I loved it! I ran my first mile in ten minutes. That's when I reached the asphalt. A mile of asphalt. Up and down and up and down and up and down with very short stretches of level in some places and no level toward the end of the mile. I should mention that I favor the painted yellow stripes down the middle, they feel so smooth! Made it to the highway and turned around. From that high point I can see the whole two miles of undulating road between the highway and my driveway. And I can see the elevation losses and gains between them as well! It amazes me that my feet can carry me so far and it amazes me that I live in such a beautiful area. My feet were feeling great. When the vicious dog at Summit started spewing his profanities I didn't even feel sorry for myself! I was gracious enoughto wish him a better day. And I kept running. And when I reached the gravel I kept running. 3 miles in barefooted bliss and still going. This is where I gimped out last week. My feet were so sore from the first gravel mile and the rough asphalt that I could not bear any of the roughness of the gravel road on my return home.
I did not whine! I ran! I noticed that in a few places the big, knobby truck tires of the neighbors had not only cleared the troublesome rocks by lodging theminto their treads, but they left such wonderful tread patterns in the mud that felt like massages to my now-feeling-tenderized feet! I only hit a few painful rocks with the pad of my right foot. By the time I reached my last quarter mile I did feel like I was limping a bit on the right but I felt so triumphant overall that I kept going. At my mailbox, VICTORY, I ran 4 miles without whining or hobbling! I felt so triumphant that I walked and trotted even up the dreaded .2 mile driveway without putting the mocs back onto my feet.
A good day; a good run. Progress in my battle with the gravel.
