Two weeks ago, I ran a mile non-stop for the very first time in my life.
Then I did nothing.
Tonight, I ran a mile non-stop for the very second time in my life. And I did it 58 seconds faster.
What I'm learning from this is that I was always able to run a mile, I just never believed I could, and never cared enough to find out.
The first time, it was pretty easy. I didn't even start hurting until about 8/10 of a mile. Tonight, it was way harder. I didn't sleep well last night, I didn't wait very long after dinner for my food to digest, I've been super sore for the past 3-4 days for some unknown reason, and (tmi warning, my friends) TOM's visiting. Instead of breezing through 8/10 of a mile, I struggled through it.
Every. Single. Step.
I told myself I could quit at .5 mile. Then I got there and told myself I needed to see how much farter I could go. I got to .650 and wanted to quit so badly, but the OCD in me wanted to keep going until at least .75o, a much nicer number. Got to .750 and almost cried, I was so miserable. Luckily, the numbers were moving pretty quickly, so the suffering was not incredibly long-lived.
I made it to 1.000 for the 2nd time ever. So this means that no matter what, no matter the day, no matter how sucky it is, no matter how much I hurt, I can make it to 1.000.
No matter what.
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