Chillin'

There was a time not too long ago when I was a little obsessive about running exactly what my training program called to run. If I was scheduled to run five miles, by gosh I'd run five miles and not a tenth of a mile less. If I was scheduled to run seven miles on Wednesday, but it was raining in the morning, you could bet your life's savings I'd run it sometime before Wednesday was over... even if it never stopped raining. If my training called for three short miles but I was going out of town, my running bag would be packed and I'd find three miles to run first thing in the morning while everyone else took advantage of some extra vacation sleep. If I had a fifteen-mile long run on the docket, but my insides were being wrung out with cramps like a wet washcloth, I'd buck up, take an extra painkiller and hit the road for fifteen miles. Nothing messed with my training schedule. I was as loyal to following it as Lassie was to coming home.

Well, times have changed this training go-round. Those who know me well might beg to differ, but I've since relaxed a bit. I've learned how to chill, as it were. No longer do I hold myself captive to my training program, making unnecessary or foolish demands on my body, my time or my other priorities.

No, really. Stop laughing. I'm serious.

This week is a fallback week, but I'm still scheduled to run a couple four-milers, a five miler and an eight-miler. I've already done the first four-miler, but I'm going to nix the five-mile run completely and probably shorten the eight-mile run to only six or seven miles.

Why?

Because I wanna, dammit.

And because I'm in charge of my life, not my training schedule.

Seriously. Stop laughing.