I had a 13 miler scheduled for this weekend, but because I just wasn't "feeling it" yesterday, I post-poned it for today. So, this morning I set out and still "wasn't feeling it." A few miles in, it started to sprinkle, which wasn't so bad because it was pretty hot and very humid, but then the sprinkle became an actual rain and my initial lethargy turned into outright dislike for the run, so I threw in the towel and ran home. So, instead of 13 miles, I only logged 7.
Once I got home, it really started pouring, so I didn't feel as bad about ditching the effort, but I still have the lingering guilt that ensues when a run doesn't go as planned. I know I shouldn't beat myself up for giving in and cutting it nearly in half; however, since I have been running so consistently lately and I haven't missed or cut a run short since starting my HM training, I am feeling the inevitable shame over the suck-factor on this one.
Oh well. I can't be awesome all the time.
Besides, I don't have time to dwell: I must now shift my energy toward the afternoon's football: Go Vikes! The stupid Cowboys, with their pretty-boy Romo, are going down!