By the time I was ready to tackle today's 7 miles, it was already dark, so it would have to be another treadmill day. The problem with the treadmill for long runs, at least as far as I'm concerned, is not the miles at the end... it's all those miles at the beginning. The ones before I reach the half-way point of my workout where I know I still have the majority of my miles ahead. The ones that are hard to appreciate because, fact of the matter is, I'm not actually getting anywhere. The ones where I have to constantly convince myself that I can make it the entire distance. The ones that tempt me to call it quits before I've reached the finish.
Until those little numbers on the screen in front of me finally hit 3.5 miles... the glorious half way point where I can assess how I feel and know for certain that I can definitely handle to repeat what I've just accomplished. The point where the distance ahead becomes less than the distance already behind me. The time when I can tell myself that, if I made it this far, I can certainly finish what I started. That magical mile marker where the angel on my right shoulder tells the devil on my left to shut the f* up!
There's no question that the end of any run feels like a great accomplishment, but at this point I would have to say that reaching half-way is probably my favorite part... the point where my negative thoughts become positive ones and I become too stubborn to give up.
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