Be warned: there will be a lot of fowl language involved in this post, along with a lot of self-pity and defeatism.
Today, I had a 14 mile run planned. I hydrated well yesterday. I laid out my cold weather running gear. It was only supposed to be around 30 degrees during my run time. I ate some yogurt and granola for breakfast and grabbed a chocolate Honey Stinger Waffle to eat right before starting the run. I filled my handheld water bottle with strawberry lemonade Nuun and tucked some Supercandy Gummies and my inhaler in the pouch. I dropped the kiddo off with the sitter and started heading to the Orange Heritage Trail in nearby Goshen. I timed everything so that I could drive the 15-20 minutes to the trail, run 14 miles at a slow pace, then get back to the sitter in time for her to go somewhere she needed to be.
A fucking hour later I was still driving around Goshen unable to find the goddamned trailhead. I’d fucking been there before- Kathryn’s part of the Hambletonian relay was on that trail. I’d seen the trailhead when I went to packet pick-up. I could not for the life of me find it again. I had the gps on my phone giving me directions that I gave up on. I used a bunch of different direction options. I parked at least 5 times to look at the map. I could see the trail on the map but could see it anywhere in the real world.
I said, “Fuck this shit,” out loud, way more times in that timespan than in my entire life, but I kept looking because I needed this run. I finally gave up for real and started to head back to the much shorter Walden-Wallkill Rail Trail. I wouldn’t have time for the long run I’d wanted but I’d get at least 5.5 in. But goddamn it, I just got so damned pissed at myself for not being able to find the trail that I was doing that Brad Pitt in Seven type angry cry. I got to the intersection where Left meant I was going to the Trail and Right meant I was going home. I was in the left turn lane behind a tractor-trailer. The light was red. 15 Seconds into the stop, I spun the wheel and headed home. I was way too riled up. I could feel my airway getting all mucus-filled. This would have been the shittiest ever. Home. Cry. Shower. Cry. Blog. Oh, and then I found that my Nuun had leaked all over the front seat of my car and on my bag. Fucking amazing.
I feel like a giant failure. At this point in the year, I was supposed to be doing 13.1+ mile runs at least every other weekend and 2-3 30-45 minute runs during the week. Do you know how much I’ve run since the Frozen Bonsai? 6.2 Miles. That’s it. I’ve got the New Orleans Rock and Roll Half in less than a month. Have I stuck with any kind of training plan whatsoever? Nope. It’s been months since I’ve had even a week of proper training. My gym membership is currently a waste of $29.99 per month.
I’m pathetic. And I thought that I could actually train for a marathon? Really? I can’t even find a trail! What am I thinking?! I can’t do the Disney Marathon in 2016. At the rate I’m going, I’d be on that course for 7+ hours and hobble, feebly over the finish line, if I even make it that far. I told myself that I needed to have 13.1 miles be my ‘easy long run’ by this time in order to even think about registering for Disney 2016. That’s shot to shit.
I don’t think that I have the drive and stick-to-it-ness to do this training. I can’t get my shit in gear to actually get runs in when I need to. I give up when I can’t find the damned trailhead. I could have easily headed to the other trail. I could be out getting in a short run, at least, in my neighborhood. Nope. I’m not. I’m crying over a poor sense of direction, instead. Good job, Nicole. Good job.
Rant post done.