The last thing I wanted to do was go for a run. I just wanted to stay home, watch my husband play with pattern-making, cuddle the cat, finish the escapist novel I was reading.
I procrastinated. I might have even whined a little bit. El Bandito might just have laughed at me a bit.
I said "I want to have run. I don't want to run."
But I've got a couple running-related goals. I'm running a 15K in January and I haven't done more than 8-9K in months, and with holiday travel, who knows when or how I'm going to bank the mileage to make that not hurt too much.
And more immediately, sometime back in 2011(?) I set myself a goal of running a minimum of as many miles as there are days in the month -- I can run more, but not less. and I've managed to maintain that despite crazy vacations and hiking trips, despite illness, despite circus training. So, December's wacky schedule, performance, and travel? Not allowed to interfere.
That's usually sufficient to get me out the door, although early in the month it's harder when the days stretch open with possibility in the calendar.
I got outside and shivered and continued to grumble.
And then I got the rhythm. My mind wandered, as it does when I run. I thought about my trapeze act; I thought about the sequences I worked last night on the hoop. I thought about gratitude. I thought about the fact that I'm going to Austin for the weekend on Friday. I thought about needing to rehearse my trapeze act before performing it on the 14th, and about the fact that I was glad I wasn't performing on El Bandito's birthday, as looked possible. And about the fact that he would have supported me if I was. And of the gratitude I have for him, to be more explicitly mentioned later.
And somehow, this late evening on a work-night, run-of-the-mill, grumble-fest of a run turned into one of the best runs I've had in a few weeks. Nothing spectacular, but solid and comfortable and done. And I remembered why I love my runs.