Seven Down, Forever to Go

It was a cool Friday evening in August.  I should have been sitting poolside enjoying a cold beverage.  Or hanging with my kids at the park.  Or weeding the garden.  Or doing ANYTHING other than what I was doing. It was a cool Friday evening in August and I was on mile three of a seven mile run.

I did not want to run seven miles.  I did not want to run five miles. I did not want to run two miles.  Yet there I was, trodding along the trail.

Over the next two weeks, I need to increase my miles.  First to eight.  Then to nine.  In a few weeks, I'll be running a 15 K race (that's 9.3 miles for the metric challenged.)

I've been talking about it for months.  Boasting and bragging.  "Look at me." I say, as I pat myself on the back.  "I'm going to run a loooooong race."

Now, I'm not so sure.  Nine miles.  It seems so far.  So impossible.  So improbable.

Was it just a year ago that running one block was impossible.  I remember huffing from one corner to the next.  I'll never be able to run for a full mile, I thought.  Only real runners did that.

It took two months, but I finally ran that mile.  Then two.  Then three.  Then five.  Now seven.

But nine? I'm really not so sure.