My stomach is doing flip-flops.
I had a team meeting/conference call last night with the other 11 runners that make up our Ragnar running team “The Burning Sensations.”
Having that phone call made it all real for me—scary real. What have I gotten myself into? First of all, I was really hoping to run the very easiest legs of the race out there. I figured that would be runner number 7 with a total of 12 miles. Nope, I was given runner number 4 with a total of 13.1 miles—an extra 1.1 miles added to an already impossible amount of miles I didn’t think I could do in the first place.
My very first leg of the race is 5.1 miles on a gradual incline (there are tears in my eyes just thinking about it). What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do? (Do you sense my panic yet?)
There is some good news though by being runner number 4 over being runner number 7 that I did not expect: Yes, runner number 7’s total length of miles is less than runner number 4, BUT the second leg of runner number 7 is pretty much straight up hill. 4.8 miles straight up. I didn’t know that. Now that I do, I’m glad that it’s not mine to run. I now have no straight uphill climbs (silver lining?).
Another plus with being runner number 4, each of my running legs progressively get smaller and smaller in length. If I can survive the 5.1 miles in the beginning, then the rest of my running will be easier and shorter. My last leg of mine is 3.8 miles and is nearly all downhill (at this point, I could just lie down and roll).
Yes, I just ran (sorta) a 5k race this past Saturday. That is only 3.1 miles. That is nothing in the realm of running and yet, it just about did me in. Running is hard for me. My lungs do not breathe like yours do. I struggle. I carry my inhaler with me always. I can run a half a mile and my breathing is the equivalent of you having run 3 miles. It sucks. (Please read the Running Advice tab above to learn more of what it is like for me to run with asthma. Though I didn’t write it, I feel every bit of it).
Can I do 5.1 miles in one sitting? I don’t know. It scares the bejeebies out of me. It will be my goal. Will I attain it? I don’t know. Okay, I’m going to go lie down now in the fetal position and listen to Orlando Bloom tell me that I can. He always makes me feel a little better.
I had a team meeting/conference call last night with the other 11 runners that make up our Ragnar running team “The Burning Sensations.”
Having that phone call made it all real for me—scary real. What have I gotten myself into? First of all, I was really hoping to run the very easiest legs of the race out there. I figured that would be runner number 7 with a total of 12 miles. Nope, I was given runner number 4 with a total of 13.1 miles—an extra 1.1 miles added to an already impossible amount of miles I didn’t think I could do in the first place.
My very first leg of the race is 5.1 miles on a gradual incline (there are tears in my eyes just thinking about it). What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do? (Do you sense my panic yet?)
There is some good news though by being runner number 4 over being runner number 7 that I did not expect: Yes, runner number 7’s total length of miles is less than runner number 4, BUT the second leg of runner number 7 is pretty much straight up hill. 4.8 miles straight up. I didn’t know that. Now that I do, I’m glad that it’s not mine to run. I now have no straight uphill climbs (silver lining?).
Another plus with being runner number 4, each of my running legs progressively get smaller and smaller in length. If I can survive the 5.1 miles in the beginning, then the rest of my running will be easier and shorter. My last leg of mine is 3.8 miles and is nearly all downhill (at this point, I could just lie down and roll).
Yes, I just ran (sorta) a 5k race this past Saturday. That is only 3.1 miles. That is nothing in the realm of running and yet, it just about did me in. Running is hard for me. My lungs do not breathe like yours do. I struggle. I carry my inhaler with me always. I can run a half a mile and my breathing is the equivalent of you having run 3 miles. It sucks. (Please read the Running Advice tab above to learn more of what it is like for me to run with asthma. Though I didn’t write it, I feel every bit of it).
Can I do 5.1 miles in one sitting? I don’t know. It scares the bejeebies out of me. It will be my goal. Will I attain it? I don’t know. Okay, I’m going to go lie down now in the fetal position and listen to Orlando Bloom tell me that I can. He always makes me feel a little better.
