I can't do this

This week was the first week that I thought to myself, I can't do this.

I had a short 2.5 mile run on Tuesday. I couldn't make it through. I had to switch over to intervals, walking at least a half mile of the whole thing. I felt completely defeated. I could barely pick up my legs. Then on Thursday I had a three mile run. I jogged that whole route, but I was miserable. It was rainy and gross and I just kept telling myself that it was too much for me. I can't do it.

Then yesterday happened. It was beautiful outside, a little chilly start to my run, but perfect. I knew I had a five mile journey ahead of me. I had dreaded it all morning on my way back from Arkansas. So when I got home, I immediately fueled up, suited up, and watered up so I could hit the pavement.

The first two miles were a little difficult, thinking about how much I had left to go. I decided to jog off my normal route, searching for a road I had once driven down that was scenic and close to home. It took me over two miles to find it, but it kept my mind off of that "I can't do this" gut feeling. I jogged down that mile stretch of road. It's one of those hidden roads in suburbia that makes you feel like you're out in the country, completely disconnected from civilization.

That mile passed, and much to my dismay, that gem of a path dumped me out on one of the main roads. I found a sidewalk and started heading the direction of my apartment complex. I misjudged how far away I was and before I knew it, I was at the bottom of my biggest hill-to-date. At this point, I was already five miles in, but decided I would stop running when I reached my apartment. I popped in one of my energy jelly beans (that I'll post about at a later date), and jogged the hell outta that hill. I found myself switching between grass and asphalt the last mile to my place, trying to avoid the Saturday rush whizzing by me on the outer road by my apartment.

Six miles.

I can do this.