I have run every single day since June 29.
I have a schedule:
Sunday: Long run -- 16-18 miles. Will get longer the closer to the Houston Marathon I get.
Monday-Thursday: I typically run 12 miles each day. It's broken up -- five at lunchtime, then the other seven when I can get it done. Because of Kate's dance classes and Kyle's band practices, I break it up and get the miles in when I can.
Friday: Three or four miles. I run these early in the morning because of high school football at night.
Saturday: Whatever I have left to make it to 70 for the week. Sometimes it's just two; if I've had a busy week with lots of interruptions, it's more.
I feel great. My times are getting faster. So it's all good.
But on Sunday when I woke up, I decided to take an off day.
There was no particular reason. I felt fine. I didn't have a whole lot to do that day, other than my usual. The weather looked bad, but I have the gym treadmill to fall back on, so no big there. I just decided I wasn't going to run.
I went through my morning routine and headed to the grocery store with that in mind: I am not going to run today. It will be OK. I will be fine.
A few minutes later, I thought, "Well, maybe just run a couple of miles. No stress. No pressure. Just get out there and run."
A few minutes later: "I might as well run at least six if I'm going to get out there. It's a waste to get ready and get out there only for two miles."
And a few minutes more: "Or eight. I could do eight."
Finally: "OK. I'll do 10. Ten sounds about right."
In 30 minutes' time, I convinced myself to run 10 miles when I previously had decided not to run any.
I'm glad I did. Because of some random occurrences plus Homecoming, it's going to be a struggle to get to 70 miles this week. Those ten miles will definitely help me out.
