It's been a bit slow going since I pledged to try and beat my first marathon time in my upcoming race. Years ago, this would have me disheartened, if not outright questioning whether I should even bother. Here a benefit of age (and, I'd like to think, wisdom) emerges amid a pitfall.
The hindrance, of course, is that a body that's almost 32 doesn't act the same way that a 21-year-old body does. Lately, it hasn't been anything major, just, well, feeling like crap. But now, when I feel like crap, I feel like crap quite a bit longer.
Fortunately, I, like the astute guy at the bar who has to drive home, know when to say when. I've learned, over time, that there's no way I can do my scheduled evening long run if I spend most of the morning using one hand to keep my head from hitting my desk and the other to sip coffee (as was the case yesterday).
Back in the day, such a setback would frustrate me mercilessly. I hated missing a workout -- especially a long run, since the tail end of the marathon was always what did me in -- and (figuratively) kicked myself when it happened.
I now know that my skipped workout is merely a misstep, that it's better to take a day off than to push it, and that life is too damn short to really worry about these things. I'll rest up tonight, squeeze in my 11ish miles tomorrow evening and roll with the punches. I'll adjust the training schedule, too -- which time has also taught me I need to plan with a pencil.
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