Last night was my 8 mile run.
It was hard.
I felt like I got off to a good start. Miles one and two were okay. Not awesome, but okay. I couldn't stop thinking about how much longer I had to go. The idea of cutting my run short never crossed my mind, I just wanted to hit the eight miles and then go dunk my feet in the pool.
Mile three is when the world came crashing down around me. Okay, that might be a little dramatic. But my leg started hurting some fierce. It was RIDIC. I stopped at a park bench and stretched that shit out. It didn't help. I started getting really nervous about finishing, and walked for a bit. My app clicked to four miles, and I realized I hadn't ruined my pace too badly. I started running again.
At mile five I got SO excited. I basically have a 5K left! I can run a 5K! I ran most of mile 5, 6 and 7. At this point I was just running big laps around my apartment complex. A complete lap is 2 miles. I wanted to hit mile 7 at the top of a hill so I could run the last mile all the way downhill. Figuring out how to do that in my head helped pass some time.
When I was running my last mile, I felt dizzy. I was pretty sure I was going to puke. I tried so hard not to look at my phone, because I wanted to be surprised when 8 miles hit. Finally, I couldn't stand it and looked.
I ran hard. I ran fast. I wanted this shit DONE.
The last .4 miles was the longest of my life. I have never seen numbers move so slow. As soon as that bitch hit 8 miles, I came to a dead stop and leaned up against a tree.
The world was spinning. I seriously thought I was going to have to lay down on the sidewalk, but decided against it. I basically crawled to the pool and carefully peeled off my shoes and socks. The water felt awesome.
I have to do my nine mile run on Sunday because I have plans Monday night. Who wants to place bets on me puking/passing out/crying?