The short story:
I was quite tired Saturday morning. I had an afternoon-long choral rehearsal beginning at 1:30. I wanted to leave for my 15-mile run by 8:30 a.m.. But I did not get up until 9:30 and I did not leave home until 11:01.
Which means I ran 11 miles instead of 15 not because I felt shitty, but because I did not want to be late for rehearsal.
I was quite tired Saturday morning. I had an afternoon-long choral rehearsal beginning at 1:30. I wanted to leave for my 15-mile run by 8:30 a.m.. But I did not get up until 9:30 and I did not leave home until 11:01.
Which means I ran 11 miles instead of 15 not because I felt shitty, but because I did not want to be late for rehearsal.
The slightly longer story:
The morning was breezy, cool and cloudless and all the trees lining Castle Island and Day Boulevard had yellow leaves. I didn't carry water or fuel. I wore shorts and a long-sleeved tee. Legs felt loose. Shoulders felt loose. Running on the Boston Harborwalk created a most agreeable sandwich of Dorchester Bay on one side and the JFK Presidential Library on the other. The tradeoff was returning through the industrial greyness of Mass Ave as it crossed 93 and hit Andrew Square. But the tradeoff's tradeoff was that after coming through the grey, I found myself at a Dunkin' Donuts not 2 blocks from my house with a Turbo Ice in my hand.
Somewhere in the middle of all that, I also had an epiphany that eludes me more often than it should.
Some mornings, when I don't feel like running, I need to not think about being tired and instead be thankful that I can run (and can run as long as I want), even if it is rushed, because it is a privilege to have a healthy, capable body and mind. In particular I should also remember that on the one afternoon I have the privilege of singing music such as this with musicians such as this, short-changing the 14th of 17 weekend runs isn't a sin.
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