Why did I choose to run a marathon in a city of hills? Next time (ha), I'm going somewhere flat.
There's one hill in particular that makes me cringe. I'm pretty sure I run up the hill slower than a typical person would walk. As I run up the hill, I feel like I'm going in slow motion, with some kind of force pushing me backwards. Though I'm pretty sure I'm going the slowest pace possible, I still end up winded when I reach the top. Every time I "run" up this hill, I tell myself that someday I will be in good enough shape that I will be able to sprint up the hill. For the record, I have absolutely no desire to sprint up that hill (or any hill for that matter). I have no desire to spend any more time on that hill than necessary, yet for some reason my brain always thinks that sprinting up that hill will be one of the great successes of my life. My body disagrees and I'm pretty sure my body is going to win this one.
While I was running yesterday, I passes a relatively distinguished looking older man who was washing his Mercedes in the middle of the park using milk jugs full of water and a rag. I spent a good mile speculating about him. There was not a source of running water nearby (hence the milk jugs) and it's the middle of winter. I decided that he is obsessed with washing his car and his wife limited the amount of times per week he is allowed to wash it, so he decided to sneak around behind her back and wash his car in strange places like the middle of the park.
When I run outside, I spend a good deal of my time people watching and then making up stories about them. There was an old couple parked on the side of the road, with their car facing an ugly fence and I decided that they were having a romantic Valentines' weekend drive, and they decided to park there to talk about the "good old days" before the ugly fence was built and ruined the aesthetics of the neighborhood.
Week 4: 21.5 miles (success!)
90 days to go.
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