So we’re on Day 4 of “sleep teaching.” I won’t go into it much because if you’re not her mom it is probably boring as fuck subject matter and also it somehow seems less traumatic when I type it out here than it seems at 3 a.m. I will say that things are going a lot better than I expected.
I have this chick Caitlin to thank for recommending The Dream Sleeper. She’s got a non-sleeping kid too and we commiserated over them several blog posts ago. I just wish I’d started sooner! Kenzie’s been going to bed at 7:30 instead of 9 or 10 or 11 p.m. and sleeping through the night and it feels like a goddamn miracle. She’s finally getting the sleep she needs and I feel like years have been added onto my life. I know that sounds dramatic after only four days, but holy shit.
Anyway, I know I said I wouldn’t go into it, but last night for instance, our tipsy neighbor showed up with some beer and instead of my husband and I tag-teaming the baby (yeah, that came out wrong) for two hours until she finally fell asleep, we were able to booze on the patio worry-free like normal functioning alcoholic human beings.
Which completely tossed a wrench in my plan to get up and run eight miles at the crack of dawn. A greasy skillet at our local Greek diner seemed much more necessary. But I finally got my shit together and headed out in the heat of the afternoon, finishing in 1:19:16, another PR.
When I ran seven miles last week, I held back and felt suspiciously fine when I finished, so today I tried to be a little ballsier. It was hotter and I felt a little under the weather (but training hungover totally helps condition you for race day!), but I felt appropriately spent when I was done and still managed to keep it just under a 10:00 pace. I know I don’t have to remind you that this is good for me.
I started feeling shitty around mile five and even rationalized that it would be no big deal to just head home and call it a day. But I reminded myself that the shitty miles are really the only miles that count. The shitty miles are going to make the difference between a 2:10 and one more mediocre, unremarkable 2:20. (Not like 2:10 is remarkable either, but shut up. Just let me have this, okay?) I’m never going to be a better runner if I stop whenever things get uncomfortable.
Also no stops off the clock. I screamed out some choice curses at mile 3 when my fingers were too sweaty to rip open my bag of GU, but there were none of those rest breaks for which I became notorious in my pre-Kenzie running days. Just because it’s a training run and not a race doesn’t mean you should fuck around. It’s kind of sad and funny that it took me recovering from a pregnancy and c-section to come to this painfully obvious realization, but there it is. Better late than never.