"I better not be pregnant."
This is a statement I made as I talked on the phone to a friend, Wednesday. I was walking home after finishing the latest of a series of bad runs. I was feeling defeated and confused. Over the past couple weeks, my split times and my mileage had gone to Hell. I couldn't figure out this fatigue.
I knew this was more than that inner voice telling me I can't. This was straight up physical. Something was going down. What else would explain deteriorating energy, speed, and endurance?
I'd gone from 12 minute miles to 12.5 minute miles to 13 minute miles.
2.5 years ago I was running regularly. I'd finally worked my way up to 2 miles and was feeling great about that mileage when I suddenly lost my mojo. I could barely get through a mile. Then it got worse. Pretty soon, I was barely making it through the first song on my play list. Turned out, I was pregnant with Bridget. Growing a human in your uterus can really interfere with a newbie runner.
Back to Wednesday- Pregnancy just didn't make sense. So, I looked at my food journal. My calories have been pretty low. Too low. 1200 low. And I'd only had around 700 calories before my run.
Yesterday, I was supposed to lift. But I wanted to test out my theory. I ate over 1000 calories, drove to the park, and psyched myself up.
I kept repeating in my head, "Redemption. Redemption. Redemption."
A half mile in I felt like stopping. But it was familiar. It was mental. My body felt strong.
Lo and behold, I finished 3.1 miles in under 36 minutes. Slow for most people. A personal best for me. In fact, my last mile was faster than my second. How about them apples?
Turns out, I'm not pregnant. Just hungry. And redemption? It tastes pretty damn good, too.