18 . . . . make that 12 please

I started off this morning with little to no motivation to run. I had this massive long run looming over my head, it was bitter cold outside and I'd much rather prefer to spend my morning bundled up in my rocker with a nice cup of coffee. By the time I finally drug my sorry butt out the door it was 9:20 and the prospect of running 18 miles was no less daunting. I've never really experienced this feeling of wanting to bag on my long run before; I was in new territory. My plan was to run Bubba twice and then kick it back to the cannons via the trails. As soon as I hit the trails I resolved that if after my first loop I wanted to stop, I could stop. Bargaining with yourself on a long run is really an effective motivational tool. Only I never got to the point of making good on the bargain. On my way back up the backside of Hamilton's Crossing a muscle in my left calf let loose and running the 2.5 miles on the trail back to the road was about as much tolerance as I'd had in me for that kind of pain. I'm now tapering without particularily meaning to. . . we'll see how it turns out on Sunday.