Today. Well, today was the day I do my long training run. Twenty miles planned. I spent most of the pre-dawn morning ringing my hands and worrying. About what?
- What if I twist my ankle?
- What if I break my leg?
- What if I get really cold?
- What if I trip and run headlong into a tree?
- What if I fell into a ravine?
- What if I get hit in the back by a mountain biker?
- What if I can't run any more, and it's too cold to walk?
The running was impossible. So, I told Himself that I could hike it. Not run it. So we hiked it. As much as I dreaded this run, as much as I dreaded leaving the house, I knew I had to get out there. So, I did.
Himself has the annoying habit of telling me how slowly we're going. This is a fairly useless endeavor; it's not unlike being tailgated by a large 4x4. I slow down. I don't speed up.
The panic attack got worse. I'd already taken a Xanax, so finally, reluctantly, I took a 2nd.
WELL.
Have you ever tried to run just chock full of sleeping medication? Me neither. At one point, I was stoned and stumbling. Finally the real sleepiness part wore off and I finished over twenty miles.
But I finished it.
Then I ate a pizza, and drank some nice red wine.
