For the better part of my adult life, running was nothing more than a way to keep from embarrassing myself during my 3-mile annual physical fitness test. I had a bit of an epiphany this week when I realized that it is harder to summon the motivation to go for a three mile run than it is for a twelve mile run. Not too long ago, a five mile run was a long distance run for me. Now I consider it speed work (if you consider my pace to be "speedy"). Anything less than ten miles just doesn't seem worth the effort. I probably won't break a sweat, and may not get my heart rate up much above 120.
Don't get me wrong. I'm no world-class runner. Scott Jurek would walk--not run--circles around me. It hit me today, though, as I was pushing through a six mile run, that the reason I was running so hard was that I wanted to get it over with. Not because I didn't want to run, but simply because I COULD push hard and get it over with. In the end, I ran six miles at basically the same pace as I ran three miles the day prior. Six months ago I could barely finish a six mile run, now I am blasting through it at 8:00/mile. Well, blasting for a middle-age, fat bald guy.
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