I'm really not a fan of long runs. Which, come to think of it, is quite odd coming from a long distance runner, right? Perhaps I should rephrase: I'm not a fan of long, slow training runs. Longish races I love - there's nothing like the feeling of accomplishment after crossing the finish line of a half marathon or a marathon. Or give me hill repeats and fartlek sessions any day - I love how they leave you exhausted, yet satisfied in such a short period of time. But those never-ending, tortoise paced runs looming on the training programme each weekend? I dread those.
So this morning during my (long) run I tried to get to the bottom of my dislike for long runs. Is it because it's physically hard? Nah, I don't think that's it. I love a physical challenge and can be stubborn as a donkey when it comes to pushing through. Is it the long time spent out on the road then? Nope, I don't think it's that either. Because what on earth can be better than spending the cool, early morning hours out on the roads doing what you love?
So what is it then?
And then it hit me: Patience. I lack patience. The patience to focus on the journey instead of the end result. The patience to live in the moment instead of always focusing on the finish line. The patience to appreciate small improvements. To enjoy the process. I need more of that.
So I closed my eyes and concentrated on feeling the rain against my skin. On appreciating the blessing of being healthy. On the joy of movement. And for once I stopped thinking about upcoming races. About ticking another block on a training programme. And about my beeping Garmin. And you know what? It. Was. Glorious.
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