Even before I've laced up my running shoes, the little voice in the back of my mind starts nagging. Come on, stay in where it's cool. Your legs are tired, ad nauseum. I (of course) ignore the little voice. It's part of all of us - the little voice that says it can't be done.
The little voice that says you can do it another day. Why not take it easy today? It sounds petulant and come hither all at the same time. There are more enjoyable things you could be doing, it adds. Do the dishes. Take the trash to the dump. Go work on the fence. The list of chores that little voice has stored away seems endless and, of course, it is, but those things can wait. The house always gets cleaned. The fence will get repaired eventually.
As I stretch in preparation for the run I get tired of the voice and tell it to take a hike. I have committed myself to the eight miles I plan on running today and nothing that little voice says is going to stop me.
It shuts up for awhile. I am in bliss at that moment. While I wouldn't describe running 8 miles as exactly enjoyable, it IS the most peaceful part of my day.
Watch in hand, I hit the road. The strides are a little unsure at first, as the muscles warm up to the job I've set before them. Eight miles is a LONG run that little voice pipes up. SHUT UP! I tell it. And it does. The first half mile is behind me in a flash. My legs, which are still a little sore from the last run, are beginning to warm up to the task. As my lungs and heart also begin to get into the act, I am glad that I remembered to use my inhaler before I left the house. There is nothing worse than getting a mile or two into a run and having an asthma attack. It stops the run cold and the little voice which is usually silent this early in the run almost screams in triumph. It's a long walk back when you're having an asthma attack and you're two miles away from home.
A mile is gone. Just under 8 minutes. Not a bad pace. I know it won't last. Eight miles is a long run, but this is more about endurance than speed, anyway.
I reach a crossroads at 1.7 miles. If I turn left, that little voice whispers, I can be home in less than 20 minutes. It's only a little more than two miles away. I ignore the voice and turn right. 6.4 miles to go.
The little voice begins it's drone again about halfway across the dam. There is no shade. Bright sunshine rains down from above. The air is still, which is not usually the case out in the open like this. The heat is stifling. I tell the voice to shut the hell up. I have alot of miles ahead of me but I'm already a quarter done and it's been less than 16 minutes.
The little voice complains about sore calves but I ignore it. It complains about the heat. I ignore that too. Three miles are gone. I think about some of the chores that need to get done. I think that by the time I get done with them I'll only have a few hours left before work.
The miles pass as my mind goes from one subject to the next; Spanish class in the fall. Environmental science? What the hell is that going to be like. I receive my associates next spring. The damn dishes need to be done.
I'm somewhere between four and five miles in. The hills suck. I put it out of my mind and tell the little voice to shut the hell up. Thank goodness for the shade the trees offer. The heat really is stifling, but the shade helps (a little). You need something to carry water, the little voice reminds me.
I plan on increasing my runs soon, adding more miles and the weather is getting warmer. I'm not even sure I can continue the 8 mile runs for much longer without carrying water. The little voice has a good point for a change.
The largest hill is in front of me now. It goes on for close to half a mile, relentlessly upwards. From the bottom, it seems to never end. The little voice suggests that perhaps I should walk up the hill. I tell it to shut the hell up and let me run. The pavement passes beneath me, slowly churning under my gaze as I try not to look up at the hill. It's daunting but I won't give in, despite the heat - and the little voice.
Finally, I am past the hill, and only have two miles to go. It's mostly flat from here on out but the little voice has to pipe up one more time as I reach a point where if I go right then I only have a mile and if I go left, I have the two. I go left, and the little voice shuts up for good.
The little voice seems to be getting weaker as I conquer more and more miles even when tired miles are telling me that they would rather rest. That's what they make Gatorade for. To hell with that little voice.