Last Friday, I went to South Haven with a group of friends, two of whom are training for the marathon with me. (There are actually 4 of us but one is out right now due to an ankle injury - we're hoping her ankle heals quickly and she can join us soon!) We had our first double digit run - 10 miles. We had run 9 miles the week before and I felt pretty good so I wasn't too worried. Until we turned around after running 5 miles and had the wind about push me off the road. Wow, where did that come from? After another mile, it started snowing. Big, fluffy snowflakes that had a knack for going right in my eyes.
Blink, blink, blink.
Then those big fluffy snowflakes became little pieces of ice and sleet. Ouch.
After we were all soaked, the snow turned fluffy again and began sticking to us. My head was so wet and cold, it was like a giant ice cream headache. Are we almost done? Just 1 more mile.
The end was in sight. We were back home but not quite at 10 miles. It was 9.8 miles - is .2 miles really a big deal? Sometimes, it really is. We had gone too far to not be able to say we ran 10 miles. So we ran past the drive until we got to 10 and then enjoyed a great weekend. And ate whatever we wanted with no guilt whatsoever.