I'm trying not to psyche myself out about tomorrow's eight-mile run. For some, eight miles is just another run, nothing to get excited about or nervous about or anything, just another run.
It's funny because that's how I feel about three- or four-mile runs. Before they scared me, challenged me, intimidated me even. But now, not saying it isn't a challenge because I approach every run as a challenge but it certainly is not the mental beast an eight-mile run is. I've done three and four, never eight.
But there was a time that I hadn't done five. Actually, it wasn't even a year ago when I barely started running outdoors for the first time in my life. Seems so surreal that, on April 19, 2008 I had little experience running, had never done more than three miles and that one year later on that day I'd be running a half-marathon. I guess you can chalk that up to something else that I never thought I'd do in my life.
Anyway, I wanted to share something I wrote way back on April 26 of last year. That was when I ran the "longest run of my life" for the, well, first time maybe. I guess my first run ever was the "longest run of my life" and then somewhere along the way it increased in distance... but we're getting a little too technical before. On April 26, I ran about 5.1 miles if I recall correctly. I think at that point I'd run for no longer than three miles and had run literally about two or three times outdoors. I ran with my brother Danny from my house to our mom's house early on a Saturday morning.
Here's the link to the blog post from back in the day. Ah, way back in '08... the memories.