Last night’s run was just four miles. I was looking forward to it after my six mile run Friday which I would actually describe as “enjoyable.” It felt good. I was pumped. I could have run longer.
Four miles? Ha! Not a problem.
I. Hated. It.
Every minute of it was a painful reminder of why I always made fun of runners.
As I was on the treadmill, sheer willpower keeping me from repeatedly banging my head against the console, it occurred to me why I was having such a hard time: I was bored. Really, really bored.
Mentally, it’s not a good to start thinking about what a boring thing it is you’re doing. “Geez, this is boring. Now that I think about it, how can anyone not be bored doing this? If anyone had to run in place and stare at the same thing for 45 minutes, I think they’d be bored to. I’m not even half way done yet?? I’ve been running for five hours – how is that possible??”
It’s not a healthy way to be thinking.
Wednesday is another four. Wish me luck.
Image courtesy of here.
Tagged: Life