This is not a post about running.  Not exactly.

But it starts there, so bear with me.

The hardest point in my runs (read: slow slog) these days is between mile 2.5 and 3.  After the newness of the run has worn off and before I’m in any kind of comfortable (read: muscle numbing) rhythm.  Way before the end is in sight.  And let’s not even talk about the possibility of the “runner’s high”.  That’s a cruel myth perpetuated by sadistic marathoners to make the rest of us feel like failures.

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This is the point that is the most uncomfortable.  When I most want to stop.  When the voices taunting “This is STUPID!” are the loudest.

Instead of “I-think-I-can-I-think-I-can” on repeat in my brain it’s “I’m-gonna-die-I’m-gonna-die”.

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