Yesterday, my schedule called for a long run of 9m. Not that bad, right? I did 8.25 two weeks ago and it was as easy as anything. I did (almost) 6 on Friday and it, too, was easy.
I woke up Sunday morning - well, sort of morning, it was almost 10am. That was not according to plan. Then I checked the weather. Not too bad, 25 degrees. Wait - wind chill 10, gusts of wind up to 25mph. I have had enough with the cold, so I decided to do my run on a treadmill. Sort of just to see if I could do it, I think. I mean, 9m isn't even a double-digit run; how bad could it be?
I hate the treadmill. I know this is a common refrain amongst runners, and I'm no different. It's boring. It's tedious. It makes even an easy run feel hard. Now, I limit myself to 3-4m if I have to use the thing, and I mostly try to avoid it. I remember a day, vaguely, when I would do runs of 5-6m on it, but even that felt like torture by the end.
But, see, I promised myself I couldn't eat any chicken fingers for dinner unless I finished my 9m on the treadmill. And I really wanted chicken fingers.
What to say about the run? I did it, I made it through, it was miserable. There were parts that seemed to go by pretty quickly; there were times when I was literally counting my footfalls to mete out the mileage and get it through faster. I watched several episodes of a Jersey Shore marathon and came to the conclusion, based on videos I saw, that recent Madonna is creepy and getting creepier and Kevin Bacon wore really high-waisted jeans in Footloose.
Oh, yeah, continuing on my rant from earlier this week: other gym patrons are funny. One guy held on to the top console of the treadmill for dear life for a full 5m. Another woman was singing, LOUDLY, along with the music. I just kept to myself. (Except I think I kind of smelled. Actually I'm pretty sure I kind of smelled. Sorry, NYSC.)