running motivation

Seeking accountability

Dear readers, I need your help. I am in desperate need of accountability – verbally, writtenly, kicking in the buttly. The holidays, they have kind killed me, or, at least, my running consistency. Last week, I was not so much a leader (sorry run study!); I was not the example to follow; I did not hold up my running values; I did not put running first. Not by a long shot. Nope. I was the girl snuggled in slippers and flannel pj’s; extendable waist as far as it could go. Normally on Thursday I run with the UBC run study girls, but because Thursday was Christmas Day, the group run was cancelled. I had every intention to get that run in. At first I was trying to motivate myself with an early morning run that would end with waffles on my plate. That didn’t work. I was feeling pressure in …

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All she needed were pom-poms

The other day I ran past a little girl, about two or three, who was skipping alongside her mom. “She’s running!” the girl announced. “Why is she running?” “Because she’s good at it,” said her mom. I looked back at the girl, with my rosy, wind slapped cheeks, and gave her a huge smile before picking up my pace and continuing on my way. About 10 or 15 minutes later, on one of my turnarounds, I heard that carefree, joyous voice calling again. This time, the girl was pumping her legs fast on the swings with her mom pumping beside her. “Look! She’s still running,” she said, giving her mom a play-by-play worthy of the Olympics. Again, I smiled, before focusing in on my form and picking up my pace. Another 15 minutes passed, and I was on my final leg of the run, I was growing sluggish, I could …

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Some days…

Some days, the last thing you want to do is pull yourself out of bed when the 5 a.m. alarm shrieks from across the room. Some days, the hardest thing is squeezing into your sports bra, putting on your shorts, and lacing up your sneakers. Some days, the thought of a 35-minute tempo run feels as though a marathon was looking back at you. Some days was today. When the alarm sounded, I was dead to the world. My eyes were stuck shut, my body felt as though it was the mass of 5,000 tonnes and my head as though it had vice grips securing it to my pillow. The thought of a tempo run was not at all welcomed. I dragged my sorry self out of bed. I trudged to the washroom with my clothes and gear. I soft stepped down the stairs (no waking Little Ring allowed!). I …

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Directionally disturbed

When I opened my eyes this morning there was lead weighting down my feet, sleep fairies blurring my vision, and every Negative Nelly excuse clouding my judgement. I had wanted to go for a run this morning, I was sure I did, and yet, when the alarm (aka: Big Ring) jolted me awake, I wanted nothing more than to roll over, stuff my head under my pillow, and go back to the land of dreams. It’s too cold, I moaned. I’m not feeling so great, I whined. I’m tired, I whimpered. And then the negotiations: I’ll go when it’s warmer out. I’ll go when I’m more awake. I’ll go this afternoon. Translation: I won’t go. Somehow, I don’t know how, I fought through it enough to get myself kitted up for a run, but even after squeezing into my compression tights (which by the way is NO easy task) I …

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