The Long Run: Pride cometh before the fall

This week I had myself a little spark of correction. I had to rearrange my running schedule because my best friend and head of the fat pack, Sarah Michelle, is getting married today. I moved my run to Wednesday. It was a 17 miler. I figured that if I dropped my kiddos off at preschool at 9, I had 3 hours to get the run done. Shouldn't be a problem.

It was a problem. My legs did not want to cooperate. I kept checking my watch for my pace, sure that it was wrong, but no. I was going slow.

The smart thing to do would have been to go at the pace that I needed to go at to finish the miles without taxing my legs.  Did I do that? Of course not. I pushed myself faster and harder to try and make sure I could get the kids picked up on time.

I'll tell you what happened. I was still late, and now my previously injured hamstring is acting up. Why didn't I just call my mom to pick up the kids? Because of pride, that's why. Because I thought I should be able to match my personal best on any given day. I felt like I needed to prove to myself that I was not getting slower.

Stupid Betsy. It's ok to be slow. It's ok to be fast. It's ok to be whatever I am today.
It just took a little spark of correction in my hamstring to remember that.