My running partner continues to amaze me, most recently by running a Ragnar. She and 11 other women ran 199 miles (relay style), with one of them running for more than 24 hours straight. Yes, through the night. It inspires me to think of all sorts of relays we run in our lives– our tag-team parenting, the generational relays, all the overnights I’ve worked in the hospital before handing a patient’s care over to another doctor.
Anyway, while she was running across the desert, my running plan said “run 8 miles.” Ack. Normally, I’d drag my PRP with me on my long runs. And double-ack, it was a swim meet morning, so we’d have to leave the house by 6:45. There was no way I was going to fit 8 miles in before 6:45 am. So I packed up my running gear and trekked off to the meet with the fam, hoping to jaunt out for a cool eight miles between the medley relays and the backstroke.
Of course, that’s precisely when it started to snow. At one point, I was trying to pull my hat down to cover the gap between my sunglasses and my forehead to keep out the ice. At mile 3, it was only getting worse, and I turned back, accomplishing only 6 miles.
At another point in my life, that 6 miles would have been such a disappointment to me. Now, it’s a miracle, every mile of it, and I’m grateful. But at some point, 8 miles is still calling my name…