You get the idea. Luckily, Nick is not susceptible to my whining. He wasn't feeling 100% either but still pushed us out the door. I stalled by fussing with my shoelaces and wailing and generally acting like a child but eventually I sucked it up and headed out.
We went a different direction than usual, which was a nice change. I wore different shoes. It was overcast with a few random raindrops, so the weather was perfect. I tried to capture all these positive bits and use them to power through the run.
I think I can stop right now. I think I can head back home. I think I can... (source)
No dice. I was stuck in hate mode. Instead, I focused on how fresh my legs felt after 3 days of not running at all (we went on a mini-vacation Friday-Sunday and running was not on the agenda). They were not achy, or tired, or anything. Physically, I felt great. So I ran fast and tried to pay attention to the cool stuff my legs let me do when they're feeling good. Nick suggested a slightly longer than normal run, even though I had contemplated going home about 75,000 times already. We turned around a little less than 3 miles from home. The run back was definitely more about getting home and being done. When we finished, Nick remarked that I was running a little fast. Fact. I was tired but not dead. I was happy to be home. I was sort of happy to have run, at least so I didn't have the lack of run guilt hanging over my head.
I am not sure why I'm in this funk. I am hoping to take a little running hiatus and maybe change things up after the half marathon. Hopefully that will help matters, because no one likes a complainer.