It's almost November. The fall running season is over, in terms of races, that is. That's depressing. This entire year I've been in constant training. An April half marathon, two more in May, another in September and my much-anticipated marathon has come and gone. And now there are six months of nothingness. Running in the cold. Dodging snow banks. Braving sub-zero temperatures.
Oh. My God.
This realization has hit me like a train. How the hell am I going to stay motivated when the next feat I have to accomplish isn't until, oh, April?
I have a
wildly unrealistic idea plan to maintain a long run of 10 miles each week throughout the winter. I don't have a gym membership, so that means 10 miles of the outdoor elements. All winter. In the dark. For no reason other than to maintain a solid base.
That is not enough motivation for me.
I can already feel myself staying in bed instead of crawling out to run in the morning. I can already hear myself telling anyone who will listen, "Eh. I'm tired. It's cold. No running today." I can already see the numbers on the scale rising because I chose to spend the winter hibernating. With pizza. And the couch.
Oh, this is depressing.