This morning, I was doing that thing I do when I run. You know, when you think about stuff? Yeah. I was thinkin’ about stuff. When the runs start getting longer and longer, you start to battle boredom more than exhaustion.

Believe it or not, your body stops rebelling after the first couple of miles. All your aches and cramps have had a chance to work themselves out. You’ve finally convinced your body, “Yes, this is what we are doing. We’re not going to stop anytime soon. Get over it.”

After that, it’s just boredom. Music gets rid of most of it. All that’s left is your brain.

I’ve said before and I’ll say it again, endurance running is far more mental than physical. A large percentage of those who say, “there is no way I could ever be a runner” probably could be. In the exact physical shape they are in right now. They could walk outside 15 seconds after uttering that sentence and knock out at least a mile or two. Easy. Physically, they could.

But. Firstly, they have probably never tried. Which leads to secondly, they’ve convinced themselves they can’t anyway. Which is probably based on thirdly, which is that the only distance they have ever actually tried to run fits well inside that time/distance in which their body is still rebelling.

That’s the mental hump. Passing the point where your body stops rebelling. And THAT is 100% mental. Full stop. Don’t try to blow smoke up anyone’s ass and whine about your joints and bones and scar tissue and crybaby bullshit. Come run with me one morning. Give me 15 minutes of your time. You’ll run a mile without stopping. And the only thing you will be able to think about when you’re done is, “If I can do that TODAY, how much more can I do TOMORROW?”

And yet again, I’ve gone off the rails.

Boredom. You start thinkin’ about stuff. Like, when I looked around to make sure no one was looking so I could wipe my face with the bottom of my shirt because I hate carrying stuff in my hands when I run. And then I thought,

“Why the fuck do I care if anyone is looking? I’ve had kids for cryin’ out loud! Labor! Hours of it. Bodily fluids. My pregnant, nekkid, bare ass flashing in front of whichever OB resident decided to satisfy their pregnancy porn fetish by coming in to “check on my contractions.” Dude, seriously. Who the fuck cares who sees my bra and sweaty tits?

And then I thought. Pregnancy….. hmmm…… that whole “almost dying thing”…… Hmmm…. Labor…. hmmmm….. C-section….. hmmm…..

OR

Mile #6….. salty sweat chapping the corners of my eyes…… boob rash because I wore a regular bra because my sports bras were dirty….. the elastic of my panties cutting into my junk because I didn’t bother to change my Victoria’s Secret “cheekies” into something more run-able….. some kinda odd thing going on with my pinky toe that I’m sure I’ll pay for later… the realization that this is only half of a half-marathon……