“I am okay with running at a 13 minute mile pace.” This is what I tell myself. Among other things.
I was thoroughly exhausted after running a hot and hilly 7 miles yesterday. I used up the last ounce of energy I had to open my front door and pop open a can of orange soda. And I fell asleep after putting Ruby to bed for the third time at 8:30.
My former runner would not have called this a long run, and she would have run the whole thing. But that is the past, and this is the present. These days 7 miles is long, walking happens, and I’m okay with clocking in at a 13 minute mile pace. Or so I say.