I normally run a 5K on Thanksgiving, but Cara and I have already done a Turkey-themed race this month and we didn’t want to shell out another $30 per person. Instead, we just slept in a bit so we can be ready to host Thanksgiving.
I had big plans, of course. A sunrise run, maybe some pictures… but I just didn’t. I’ve been trying to figure out where my fire has gone, to be honest. How come I’m not out there like a bandit every mortning at 5:30am? How come I’m not running in a proper pattern anymore?
My best guess is comfort. My motivation was always based upon two things. A dislike for my appearance and preparation for the next race. My appearance was vastly improved after losing 40 pounds, and a New England winter killed the regular stream of races that I enjoyed in Charleston. Essentially, I replaced worries about body image with worries about the next race. Once I stopped worrying about those things, I lost my good habits.
So where does that leave me? It leaves me sitting on my ass in my Fatboy Jeans, that’s where. I’m still not getting up in the morning, and I’m still not putting in the miles that I should be putting in. It’s especially embarrassing when I read my friend Sara’s blog post about the holiday. She ran 10 miles, and she made pies. Bloody hell, what have I become?
On the bright side, the races are more plentiful in Columbia, and I seem to have kept a respectable speed even though I’ve slipped a bit. Downtown Columbia may not be as pretty as downtown Charleston, but it has a few hills to climb. When the city matures a little more and the people here learn what pedestrians are, things will come together rather nicely.
In the meantime, I’m going to enjoy a Thanksgiving dinner with Cara, Ma, and my sister Pam. Cara and I are both feeling a bit guilty about not running today… and that will get worse with the dinner… but tomorrow is another day. We’ll make up the mileage then.