This is a bit of a postscript to my post, To the Nines, Again. It was only a couple days after the post, and I met Debbie Scheel for an early morning run in the cold rain. She wanted to run ten miles in order to satisfy some mileage goal she has for the year.
I didn't want to get out of the car. The rain was coming down hard, and it was 50 degrees. But that's the good thing about having training partners: they get you out the door on days where it would be way to easy to stay inside.
As always, once we got moving, the rain didn't bother us (hardly) at all. But here's what did:
We were arriving back to our cars with our Garmins informing us that we'd run 9.77 (hers) or 9.83 (mine) miles. Debbie just ***assumed*** that I - or any rational runner - would run another quarter-mile in the Wal-Mart parking lot in order for their Garmin to register a number in the double digits.
But I didn't; I stopped and just watched her run that extra little bit. Just before, we'd been discussing who was the most obsessive-compulsive / anal-retentive / just plain crazy, and she dared me to quit. So quit I did.
"Isn't this going to bother you for the rest of the day?" she asked. "Nope. I'll be just fine," I answered. "Well it'll bother me!" she said.
No comments:
Post a Comment